Phoenix
by RiverZed
Summary: After Terminator Salvation; my take on how Marcus survives, and what this means for him and the people whose lives he has irrevocably altered.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I wrote this story without meaning to, because the characters in this movie were really interesting to me, and because there was so much more that could have been done with them. I also thought, as did many viewers apparently, that killing off Marcus' character was a terrible, if predictable choice. I thought it would be great to see a continuation of the movie that showed the conflicts and the dilemmas that would arise from various characters struggling to accept him into the fold, and him trying to accept himself.**

**That, essentially, is what this little story is trying to do. To anyone who has the patience and the curiosity to read it, many thanks, hope you enjoy it! Do forgive any glaring errors or obvious mistakes, I don't claim to be an expert on anything, especially anything Terminator-related. Just a fan. :)**

* * *

Slowly, consciousness crept back. He was foggy, muddy, had no idea where he was, what had happened, or even who he was really, but was dimly aware of _being_. His mind struggled against itself to clear the inertia that gripped it, to grasp the faint sounds filtering in through what seemed like a deep, long tunnel.

Some time passed. He could hear voices now, sounding much closer than before. They sounded brisk and efficient and his first vague thought was that this did not sound like Longview prison. He must have drifted out again at that point. Later he stirred to the sound of a clear voice very close by, almost beside him, and caught a few words; something about stabilizing, about alerting somebody.

Later still his eyes decided to try and open. The space around him was filled with hushed voices and bustling with energy. When his lids finally flickered up, a flood of light slammed painfully against his brain and he heard himself gasp; an oddly disconnected sound. 'He's awake,' a firm female voice stated, 'He's coming around.' Then, 'Turn the light down a bit.' He tried opening his eyes again, and though the light was still painfully strong, this time he could keep his lids open. Against the glare he saw the shape of a woman's head hovering over him. Her face was in shadow but stray wisps of hair stuck out around her head in a messy halo, silhouetted against the light behind her. He blinked his watering eyes and tried to focus his bleary gaze.

'Marcus,' the woman said, 'Marcus, can you hear me?'

Hearing his name did it. Suddenly his groggy brain was rammed full of overwhelming memories. They came at him relentlessly in disjointed spurts; the green walls of a dingy chamber, a gun glinting in his hand as he lowered it slowly, trudging blindly through an unnatural, torrential rain, Serena Kogan's pale face looming over him... and violent explosions. Explosion after explosion replayed itself in his mind's eye, the strongest memory that of flames engulfing everything around him as he stood reeling in a dark forest, the unnatural light that suddenly blazed white-hot in the night as the fire came down to consume him...

He was screaming, or trying to, in a voice hoarse with disuse. He was trying to get up, to get away, but hands took hold of his arms, his shoulders, and held him down. A vaguely familiar voice broke into his head over the scuffling chaos, the same woman who'd spoken earlier, 'No, just disoriented I think, no need for that...' This was to someone else, then she was addressing him, snapping at him '...Goddamn it Marcus, stop it! It's okay; you're okay... just stop fighting!' She sounded authoritative, commanding, and more than a little irritated. He stopped flailing and lay back, panting, muscles tightly wound and ready for action.

She decided to try again. 'Listen to me.' She seemed to force a gentler tone, 'I want you to calm down. Everything's okay. You're... safe.' Her hand grasped his shoulder, giving it a firm shake. 'Do you recognize me?' He struggled to say yes, to remember who the hell she was, but his mind was still swimming in a swamp of panic. He rasped out the only name he could think of, 'Dr Kogan... Serena?' That lying bitch. He wasn't safe. She had used him. She had done something monstrous to him, oh God what had she done, if only he could go back and not sign that fucking form...

'I don't know who Dr Kogan is Marcus, but I'm not her. It's Kate. Kate Connor,' the woman was saying, and suddenly Marcus' vision seemed to snap into sharp focus. He found himself staring up into Kate Connor's large round eyes, as startlingly blue as his own. She was bending over him, looking down at him with an odd mixture of detached aloofness and reluctant concern. He swallowed hard, feeling foolish. Of course. Connor's wife. Not someone he'd choose to have by his side, but at least a familiar face. He began to feel his breathing even out. 'Kate? What... what happened?' he couldn't keep the pleading note out of his voice.

She met his eyes, 'You don't remember?' Then she shook her head slightly 'Give yourself a minute. It'll all come back. And stop the theatrics. You need to rest.'

But he was only half-listening. As he'd asked her, it had already started to come back, his mind throwing out fragments for him to piece together; making his way into the compound in the dead of night, locating Kyle, facing down that terrible image of Serena Kogan as it told him, finally, what had been done to him. He remembered the chaos of terrified prisoners scattering across the military facility, and bursting in to help Connor fight the T-800. And coming to on the floor of the factory just as Connor, crouching above him, was impaled by a steel beam. Marcus remembered thinking it was all over, Connor was dead; no man could survive an injury like that. He thought this even as he leapt up from the ground and finished off the machine in a desperate, final spurt of strength.

'Oh shit,' he breathed, 'Shit. Skynet.'

Kate had been examining him, her hands flitting over his body briskly businesslike as she felt his pulse, checked his pupils. She now looked away. 'Yeah,' was all she said, shortly.

'But... John. Is he... His heart – I mean, my heart,' he sputtered, his eyes widening as the full meaning of the situation hit home, 'I'm... I should be... What about my heart?'

Kate was silent for a long time. She seemed to be studying him as if seeing him for the first time, taking in his features; the blue eyes searching hers in distress, muscles twitching beneath the angled symmetrical planes of his face, the two deep creases of confusion between his eyebrows, his lips, opening and closing silently as his mind raced. She had a strange expression on her face, something ratcheting between confusion, disbelief and wonderment.

Finally her eyes softened a bit. 'Your heart's right here,' she said quietly. Reaching down she lifted his right hand in hers and placed it carefully on his chest. Marcus looked down to see a large swath of bandages, feeling the rough texture of gauze under his fingers. The low, searing pain he had been vaguely aware of suddenly made sense. 'I don't underst-' he had begun when she continued, cutting him off, 'You gave him your heart Marcus. You did do that. And... We did use it. You saved his life, again. It's just that, well, we managed to find a way to keep you alive too.' He was amazed to find that she responded to his bewildered look with a tiny, humorless smile, 'A small but vocal contingent wanted you around.'

Trying not to think too much about that last sentence, he tried again, 'How did I save him if I'm still alive? His heart was giving out. He needed a transplant, right?'

'Yes. He did and that's what we were about to attempt. Though honestly there was a slim chance it would have worked, even if your types matched. Too big a shock for the system.'

'Then?'

Suddenly, Kate looked uncomfortable, like she was struggling to find words. 'Marcus. Listen.' She stared off into the distance, shaking her head. When she spoke again she kept her voice low, as if she didn't want him to hear too much emotion in it. 'I would have done anything to save John. Anything at all. He is my whole life, and I couldn't bear living without him.' She instinctively placed a hand on her belly. 'But, what you did, stepping up like that... I didn't even thank you. I didn't stop to think. About what... it meant. For you.'

As dizzy with confusion as he was, Marcus realized what she was trying to say. 'Kate. Nothing was asked of me. I made my choice.'

She nodded quickly, too quickly 'I know. And it was,' she faltered '...An admirable choice. But... it all happened so fast. You didn't hesitate, and of course none of us tried to stop you. And, once we were ready to begin...'


	2. Chapter 2

Kate struggled with herself, not wanting to show weakness, but feeling unable to maintain her aloof demeanor. What had happened after Marcus was put under was hard to explain. She wasn't sure she could ever put it into words, and especially not to him. But at the same time, she felt she owed him an explanation after all that had happened. It was the strangest thing in the world, almost stranger than the massive irony that was Judgment Day itself, that she should feel the need to show consideration to a creature that was technically a machine. But for a variety of compelling reasons, that was how it stood. She was trying to get used to it.

* * *

There had been a charged silence in the tent as Kate's medical team filtered in and started their preparations methodically and quietly. Blair had lost the calm composure with which she had accepted Marcus' decision, and was weeping silently. Kyle stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze from Marcus' body lying stretched out on the operating table. There were wet patches under his eyes which he didn't bother to wipe away, but he seemed frozen, almost beyond emotion. The child, Star, had wrapped her arms around him and stood with her face pressed against his side. Even Barnes, who anyone would have expected would volunteer to pull out Marcus' heart with his own hands, stood stock still, a somber look on his face. Looking at them, Kate understood each reaction easily; Blair, Kyle and Star mourned the loss of yet another person they had grown attached to, an attachment that was clearly not diminished by learning the truth about Marcus. Barnes was obviously thrown off by Marcus' unexpected sacrifice, and Kate could see him trying to make sense of it. Why would the machine sacrifice itself? What could be its possible endgame? What shook her was that she herself faced a more complex emotional reaction.

From the moment he was brought into her OR and she opened his shirt to see the sinister gleam of metal, Marcus was very clearly a machine to her, albeit one with an impressive integration of human components. Not the least of which was the hundred percent organic heart that he just decided to give away to her husband.

But machine or not, the unhesitating conviction with which Marcus had stepped up to offer his own life in exchange for John's had shaken her. He was calm, almost serene, as he said his perfunctory goodbyes, and as he let Kate help him out of the jacket he was wearing. He had lain down on the table without a moment's pause, seeming entirely at peace with the prospect of ending his own existence. She saw him turn his head to exchange one final look with her barely conscious husband, who acknowledged him with a solemn nod. He then looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Kate felt a mounting sense of unease as she slid the needle into his arm. Marcus didn't so much as look at her. He seemed detached from reality already, focused on something far away; his breathing was even and controlled, and his face relaxed as the drugs worked their way into his bloodstream, slowing his heart, closing his eyes.

Kate had seen a lot in her years as a doctor for the Resistance, but she'd never had to end one patient's life to save another. She told herself it was like shutting down a machine, as she had dispassionately told Blair only a day or so ago: disassembly, decommissioning. But suddenly it wasn't an entirely convincing argument. Had it not been John's life at stake, she realized with a jolt, she may even have been moved to argue against the procedure. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

She knew what was wrong with her. She kept thinking about the last conversation she had with her husband. As they lay in bed that night, John had confided to her what had really happened in the swamp. He told her how he barely survived the crash and how Marcus had emerged to wrestle the last of the hydrobots away. He told her how he had stood facing Marcus with his gun leveled at the other man, and how, even with half his face blown off exposing the metal endoskeleton underneath, Marcus had managed to convince Connor to trust him.

Of course, logically speaking, had John not taken a gamble on Marcus they would have lost all hope of recovering Kyle. But, Connor explained, it was more than that. Marcus had looked him in the eye and spoken with the same conviction that Connor had found so unsettling when he interrogated him, and which had sent him running back to his mother's old tapes for answers.

'He promised to find Kyle,' Connor told his wife, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions, 'And I believed him, Kate. I believed this, this _thing_, I don't know why, but I just knew in my heart that he was telling the truth. I knew he would help us. And I let him go.' Kate listened, her own thoughts in a whirlwind, not pointing out that Connor had slipped into referring to Marcus Wright as 'him' and not 'it' as he had initially instructed the members of his crew to do.

Instead, quietly, trying not to show how shaken she was, she argued that the humanness must be part of his programming. Skynet had to make him believable. But John shook his head. 'No.' He looked her dead in the eyes. 'He's not a machine, Kate. Physically, yes, I know. We've seen his body, the mechanical components. But there's a real man there. That's what Blair saw.'

Of course, as it played out, Marcus had kept his word, locating Kyle in the labyrinthine sprawl of Skynet Central, and helping John sneak in past the guard posts. He had fought his way out of there alongside John, buying him precious time to rig up the explosives that would destroy the facility, and bringing him out alive, even if just barely. Kate couldn't discount what all this meant, as much as she wished she could. It would be so much easier to keep Marcus neatly confined to the box in which they'd originally placed him; machine, enemy. But it had become clear that he was much more than a machine, and anything but the enemy. Last night he had been their savior; no one could say otherwise no matter how hard they tried.

Kate knew now that her husband wasn't entirely wrong. As much as the doctor in her couldn't stomach the idea of a human-machine hybrid being anything but an abomination, she had seen enough now to know it wasn't that simple. She could see it in the way he and Blair interacted, and in the way that the two kids responded to him. She had seen it in his face when he brought John out of Skynet Central, back to her, and when he watched the compound go up in flames; some uncanny trick of technology perhaps, she tried to tell herself, but he was so real, so human. And what else but his humanity had made him take a stand against his creators and fight them alongside the humans, the hopeless, desperate, ragtag collective of people that made up what remained of the Resistance. Kate recalled telling a distraught Blair, coolly and with complete conviction, that the machine had only saved Blair's life so she would lead it back to Connor. She was hard-pressed to find a similar convenient reason for it helping them to destroy Skynet Central. Whatever his reasons, the human in him had found things and people worth fighting for. Yet, here he was, giving it all up without missing a beat, because it was the right thing to do. It was a courageous thing to do, a uniquely human sacrifice, and for this, she had to respect him.

Suddenly, in spite of herself, she fought tears. She had conditioned herself to be strong for so many years, but now, when she was on the brink of losing everything, she suddenly despised the unfairness of this life, and the hard choices she was compelled to make. She wasn't sure whether she was crying more for the dying husband she was trying to save, or for herself who at seven months pregnant, should not have had to suffer what she was going through. Maybe she was even crying a little bit for this machine-man who had come out of nowhere and saved them, and whose life, such as it was, she was about to end with her own hands.

It was Kyle who finally spoke up. 'This isn't right.'

They all turned to look at him, especially Kate, the only one who knew that the frail-looking teenage boy was actually the future father of her husband. This was a fact she was so deeply aware of on a subconscious level that she realized later she had treated everything he did and said with talismanic significance. He _was_ Kyle Reese, after all.

Kyle's words were greeted by silence. 'It isn't right,' he said again, his voice gathering strength. 'We have to save John, I know, but... What about Marcus?

In the uneasy silence Kate stared at Kyle, watching his internal struggle, then at the floor. How incredible it was, she thought, that Kyle of all people should feel an attachment to Marcus. He was clearly torn between wanting Connor to live and not wanting Marcus to die. It was Barnes who finally voiced her thoughts, 'We need John, kid. Without him, there's no hope for any of us.'

Kyle stood his ground. 'I know. But, it's not fair. Marcus saved us all. We can't just let him die. Please. Think about it. We need John Connor, but... we need Marcus too.'

He might as well have said '_I_ need Marcus.' Blair stood silent, her eyes darting between Kyle and Kate. She looked too pained to speak. Their eyes met and Kate saw the effort of restraint; Blair understood that she was hardly in a position to speak up after the stunt she had pulled. Especially now, with the only man who seemed to understand the reasons for her supposed betrayal, Connor, facing death.

'Kate.' The steely determination in Kyle's thin voice made Kate jump. 'Kate, we need you to think here. Isn't there any way? Any way at all to save them both?'

'Hey, that's _John Connor_,' Barnes broke in, heatedly this time, pointing to where John lay. 'He will _die_ if we don't do this. And you wanna save the machine?'

On the edge already, Kate felt her composure about to shatter. She couldn't shake the irony of Kyle Reese arguing for the life of the hybrid. That he didn't know the other man was his son didn't change the weight of his words in her mind. Marcus didn't deserve to die, and Kyle was the only one forthright enough to point this out.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she felt herself swaying. 'I need a minute,' she murmured, and without looking at any of them, walked out of the tent. 'Kate!' Barnes called after her urgently. Shooting a grim look at Kyle, he followed her.


	3. Chapter 3

Kate had sat impassive in the glaring sun and the rough wind, staring out over the desert, wasting precious minutes she knew John didn't have. She was so exhausted that she couldn't bear the idea of going back inside to begin the surgery that would determine whether or not she was about to be widowed. It was already enough to nearly destroy her sanity without the unexpected guilt of the decision to take Marcus' heart now clouding her judgment. Did Kyle and Blair really expect her to see this situation as a choice? If it had been one of their loved ones at stake wouldn't they have done the same? Then again, they obviously _did_ see Marcus as somebody important enough to fight for.

The prospect of John dying, leaving her alone in this hostile, hopeless world with a fatherless child to care for was enough to make her pick up a scalpel and slice into Marcus without a second thought. Then again, when she looked at Marcus lying there, she had to admit she felt a stab of something very much like real regret that he had to die.

She was lost in thought when Barnes came running up behind her. He seemed breathless. 'Kate you'll want to hear this,' he panted. 'We have company on the way. Just a got a radio message. You ever hear of a Dr John Silverman?'

She looked up at him, her mind a million miles away. 'Who? No.'

'Well, you're going to want to now. He's on his way to us as we speak.'

She frowned, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes 'Who is he Barnes?'

'He's a surgeon. Transplant specialist. Never heard of him, but he checks out... what's left of Command's contacts confirmed.' He watched the curiosity in her eyes 'The news about John has spread. They say he's bringing his team and whatever equipment they can transport.'

'That's strange,' she half-whispered. Then she shook herself 'We need any help we can get but we don't have long. I need to get started. When do they get here?'

'Soon. ETA twenty minutes. You better get ready for them.' He held out a hand to help her up from the rocky ledge she was sitting on. 'And Kate?' She looked at him. 'You gotta get through this. Just be strong and I know you can pull John through.'

'I know Barnes. I know. It's just – suddenly...' She couldn't explain to him why this choice that seemed so cut and dried to him, and would have to her as well just days ago, was now troubling her so much. She couldn't expect him to understand why Kyle's words had unnerved her so much, or how John's changed perspective of Marcus after that night had affected her.

This Dr Silverman was a surprise, but she was only mildly curious. Of course, she would be grateful for another experienced pair of hands, and any equipment they could provide, but what she really had to do now was to cut a beating heart out of a living body, and focus on making sure that her husband would live.

* * *

Marcus had been silent, listening intently as Kate spoke, first haltingly, then in a rush of words. He sensed she was narrating a version of the events that was mostly factual; that she had gone through more than what she was now putting into words. He could see that in her face, in her voice as she told him briefly how Kyle had spoken up in his defense, how hard it had been to face losing John, how she did in fact, feel the weight of the decision to take his life.

Now he swallowed, the click in his throat audible in the silence between them. 'So this Dr Silverman. What was his deal?' His voice was still hoarse and strained, and he found himself wishing, for the first time since awakening in the post-apocalyptic world, for a few sips of water.

'Turns out we hadn't heard of Silverman because Command kept his whole team under the radar. He was specializing in some pretty radical top-secret research. Cybernetics-related research,' she added meaningfully. 'We were about to begin the surgery when he arrived and he jumped in, saying we had to try another way. I have a hunch he'd come out more on the chance of studying you than to help John,' Kate added. 'Anyway, it turned out he'd been studying ways of augmenting human flesh with engineered and organic parts for years. His work had to be kept under wraps because it was too controversial a subject for most of the Resistance to contemplate.'

Marcus nodded absently, 'So... John's heart is artificial?' he tried once again to fit the pieces that were coming together too slowly.

'No, it's one hundred percent flesh and blood. It's... well, it's partially your heart.' Kate's eyes flickered down to Marcus' chest. Marcus felt his lips part, but no words came out of his mouth. He too looked down at himself. How did that work? What exactly had they done?

Kate continued, 'Dr Silverman studied your enhanced healing ability – as much as he could in very little time – and suggested we try this radical procedure of excising sections of your heart muscle to replace the most badly-damaged portions of John's. It was crazy. Worst case scenario John would just have died anyway, and so would you. But we did it because it was the only way we could attempt to keep you both alive.'

A dark expression flashed across Marcus' face, 'I didn't ask to be kept alive,' he said very quietly, not looking at Kate.

'I know you didn't,' Kate said firmly. Ignoring Marcus' sullen silence, she went on to explain how luckily his and Connor's blood types were compatible, and so, they had been able to go ahead with the wildly unconventional plan. Kate found herself skipping over how many hours they had kept Marcus lying there on artificial life support with his chest cavity gaping open as they worked on John, and how neatly and efficiently they had sliced out sections of his heart; she remembered thinking, as she worked, that he bled as copiously as any other man would. They had managed to completely repair the damage to John's heart using Marcus' transplanted tissue, and after an exhausting and nerve-wracking surgery they had finally closed John up. If his body didn't reject the tissue, Silverman pointed out, there was every chance of a hundred percent recovery.

With this reassurance, Kate was able to take an active part in the next procedure, when they turned their attention to Marcus. Using synthetic, biodegradable substances Dr Silverman had built a sort of cage, a framework holding the remaining pieces of Marcus' heart together. He theorized that Marcus's heart could possibly repair itself, could grow back over the carefully constructed framework just as the rest of his tissue was able to. But it was, of course, just a theory; time would tell.

Incredibly, Kate told him, a slight tremor in her voice at the memory, John had regained consciousness on the day after the procedure. He was extremely weak but his heart was recovering, and he had no signs of infection or other complications. Marcus' tissue had been seamlessly assimilated into his body.

Marcus, on the other hand, had remained on the brink for much longer. For two days following the surgery, there was no sign of tissue regeneration. Machines kept him technically alive as Kate and Silverman kept watch over his partial heart, exposed under protective gauze. They had to allow blood to flow back into the remaining tissue if it was going to regenerate; Dr Silverman had set up a suction system that kept Marcus from bleeding out completely, but he still lost a lot of blood. Kate had to put out a request for donations, reluctantly telling everyone that it was her husband who needed the transfusions. People from all over had lined up instantly to give blood to John Connor.

As John began to heal, and it became more clear that he was out of danger, Kate had been almost unbearably relieved. Her husband was well on the way to a recovery that was nothing short of miraculous. There was nothing marring her happiness, except the looks on the faces of three people. Understandably, Blair, Kyle and Star seemed to band together during those few days, and were seldom found far from the room where Marcus lay. Kate hated seeing the barely veiled hope on their faces, knowing that whatever she thought of Marcus, their feelings for him were no less real than hers for her husband. She couldn't help but be incredulous at how strongly they had bonded to Marcus in such a short span of time, but she could also no longer stand back coldly and pass judgment. She had seen all too clearly the beginnings of a frightening struggle in John's eyes; a struggle to redefine what constituted humanity.

At the end of the second day, Kate, Kyle and Blair were in the room when Dr Silverman had finally suggested pulling the plug. Blair had whirled to face Kate, stricken. 'Kate,' she said quietly, seeming to exercise every ounce of self-control, 'Please. Not like this. You can't just turn off the machines.' Kyle had actually yelled at Silverman. 'We are _not_ going to do anything of the sort!' he had shouted, before seeming to get a hold of himself. 'We wait. Okay? We have to wait. We can't give up on him.'

Wearily, Kate looked at Silverman across the room. She found herself disinclined to argue. 'We could hang on a little longer. Maybe he can still come out of it... How much longer can you spare your equipment doctor?'

Silverman had surveyed the scene and shrugged. 'Look, it's fine by me to wait. If anything, I want to hope something will change. That would be quite remarkable. But it's usually the first forty-eight hours that are critical.'

So they had waited.


	4. Chapter 4

'And, just like that, on the third day,' Kate told Marcus, 'We began to see a change. Your heart was starting to regenerate itself, though very slowly. There were still no guarantees but it was a sign of life, of your body fighting back.'

She fell silent. It was clear she was thinking back over the events she had just described. If Marcus had had the luxury of perspective, had his head not been spinning with all she'd just told him, he might have felt some sympathy for her; she had obviously been through hell.

But he was struggling not to show how disturbed he was by the details of his journey back from the brink of a second death. He tried to consider the facts calmly for a while. He tried not to focus on the recurring thought that they had used him, essentially, as spare parts.

Somehow the idea of his _entire_ heart being transplanted into Connor's body had not troubled him at all. That was natural, acceptable; donated organs saved the lives of countless people every day, back when the world hadn't ended. But this? This was very different.

As he watched Connor slowly dying in the tent, Marcus had had a flash of understanding, deciding there was a certain ironic balance to be found in this cruel situation. If he himself was no longer human, what better than to give the last human part of himself to the man who was supposedly destined to save mankind. In doing so, Marcus decided he could claim a victory of sorts, a final victory against Skynet and Serena Kogan and their idea that the human condition no longer applied to him; was it not human to willingly end his life to save that of another person, one who mattered? He reasoned that at least this way he would leave these people a slightly better chance to win against the machines; a chance for Kyle and Star. For Blair. That was worth it.

And no one would have to know that it was not an entirely selfless act. By ending this farce they had tried to force him to live, he would finally have the end he had sought fifteen years ago. He would have relief from the mess of his life, his mistakes, the past that haunted him even beyond the grave. _A win-win situation if ever there was one,_ he had thought bitterly. And without giving himself the chance to think further, he had spoken up, clearly and without hesitation. 'Take mine.'

Now he was left fighting the revulsion that welled up inside, how, even as he was glad that Connor had survived, he felt cheated of his sacrifice and horrified that he wasn't even human enough to die after his heart had been carved up like meatloaf.

With great effort he tore himself from this dark spiral of thought and tried to focus on facts.

'How long ago was this?'

'It's been seven days since the surgery now.'

Seven days. So much had unfolded in just those few hellish days and nights that a whole week sounded like an age. What had been happening during this time? Had there been relative quiet, with Skynet dealt a serious blow? Or had Skynet come after them with everything it had left, more fighting, more destruction and more lives lost? Where was Kyle, and Star, where was Blair, were they all right?

'Where is everyone?' he asked, finally.

Kate looked at the door as if expecting someone to walk through. 'Everyone's here, they're around the base...'

'Connor doing okay?'

Kate looked down as if unable to meet his eyes. 'He's doing great. He's not walking yet, but in a day or two he should be. He's going to be fine. Thanks to you,' she added quietly, awkwardly.

Marcus didn't know how to respond to that. Instead he asked, almost impatiently 'What about Kyle? And Star.'

'They're okay Marcus. We've been taking good care of them. They're starting to settle in...'

'And where's–'

'Blair's not on the base at the moment,' Kate cut in, 'She's away on duty today, flying. But,' she added clumsily, 'She'll be glad to know you're awake.'

Suddenly Marcus felt overwhelmed. Feelings and thoughts welled up inside till he felt he would come apart at the seams any minute. He managed to keep most of this off his face, maintaining his usual impassive mask, but it was a strain. 'So, now? What happens now?' He felt desperate for answers.

Kate considered this. She spoke as if rattling off memorized facts. 'Now that you're conscious, I think we can say you're going to make a full recovery. Your heart seems to have almost completely healed itself. I wouldn't say a hundred percent but we took you off all artificial support yesterday, so obviously, there's only minor regeneration left.'

'But the healing of the rest of your body has been drastically affected. In fact, your recovery had slowed to an absolute minimum till about a day or two ago, almost as if... well, as if your body was putting everything into regenerating the heart muscle. We think it's temporary, till you get your full strength back, but I can't say for sure yet.'

Marcus had been absorbing every word, thinking hard_._ Now the words slipped out before he could weigh them: 'Is that why there's so much pain?' He regretted the admission as soon as he uttered it.

Shock registered clearly on Kate's face before she could mask it. She hadn't even considered that he might be feeling pain, hadn't given him any of the usual post-surgical drugs. 'Probably,' she finally answered. 'Your surgical wounds have just begun healing,' she clarified lamely. In her mind she kept flashing back to the sight of half the skin and tissue from his entire torso blown away; had he felt pain then? Surely he couldn't have functioned with such serious injuries if he'd truly felt the pain. She realized with a mental shudder that even if he _had,_ she wouldn't have believed it at the time.

Marcus registered her reaction, and kicked himself. Did he expect compassion? Just because she had been speaking to him for a while there as though they were just any two people, just a doctor and a patient, he had slipped. He suddenly wished he could get up and walk away.

'Forget it,' he told her, keeping his voice neutral with effort. 'It's not that bad.' He drew a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. 'Look, I think I need to be alone. This is all... a lot to take in.'

Kate looked at him warily, vaguely alarmed. He couldn't know that she kicked herself mentally; she hadn't realized her reaction was so obvious. But he had noticed it and he was, she forced herself to register this consciously, _upset_. A voice piped up in her head, _Leave him alone Kate. Just leave him be for a while. _ She spoke hesitantly. 'Do you want me to give you something - for the pain, I mean - before I go?'

'Nah. I'm okay.' Marcus clenched his jaw. He'd be damned if he asked her for anything.

Kate didn't insist. Suddenly she felt shaky, thrown off by their exchange. This was all too much... she was trying her best to handle the situation, to deal with him sensitively, _humanely_, but suddenly she wanted to get away from those accusing blue eyes, from the awkward questions, from the maddening knowledge that the man in front of her was really, technically speaking, more machine than man. She stood. 'Okay. I'll... check on you in a bit.' At the door she turned to look back, adding 'You need to stay in bed. Don't try to sit up yet.' She seemed about to say more, then disappeared, shutting the heavy iron door behind her.

* * *

Left alone in the darkened room, Marcus took a deep, shaky breath. He closed his eyes for a minute, forcing himself to calm down, to get a hold of himself. Finally, opening his eyes he took in his surroundings. The room he was in was small and claustrophobic, cluttered with medical equipment and lit by a single, harsh surgical light positioned beside his cot. The light had been turned away, and was beating down on a tray full of glinting equipment, throwing the rest of the room into dramatic shadows.

He now wished he hadn't been so quick to refuse the painkillers grudgingly offered to him. He was beginning to feel the full extent of what his body had been through. His chest hurt with every breath, a deep smoldering pain combined with sharper jabs whenever he tried to move. His head was pounding, a sickening throbbing at his temples and at the base of his skull. His throat felt dry and raw, as if something had been rammed down it. His left hand radiated pain all the way up his arm. He thought back to fighting the T-800 in the factory. Most of the details were reduced to flashes of memory, but he clearly remembered the excruciating pain of molten metal searing the skin and tissue off his hand. It was now apparently growing back, though slowly. The hand was wrapped in bandages, for which he was glad; he didn't really care to know what it looked like under there.

His right leg throbbed horribly as well; moving gingerly, he pushed away the worn blanket covering his body to reveal his thigh, and discovered an assortment of bandages running down the length of it. For a few minutes he was puzzled; he didn't remember his leg being injured. Then something Kate had said clicked in his head. Of course. Dr Silverman. It made sense that he would use a part of the body where the covering of flesh and muscle were thickest to carry out his tests. Only it seemed that, instead of taking a few harmless tissue samples, he had decided to slice out a chunk of flesh all the way down to the bone. _Not bone, metal, _Marcus corrected himself suddenly, feeling an ominous blackness swelling in his head.

The blackness was a familiar feeling, a prelude to the rage that would follow. But this time it would be different than any rage he had ever felt in his life. Different even, than the worst day he could remember, the day that his life as he had known it had been ended on a sweltering afternoon by one careless slip-up and three well-aimed bullets. This time there was no quick way to deal with what had happened to him; no swift retribution, no bullets to place between the eyes of his enemy.

So he tried his best to push it away, not to feel it. He couldn't afford to open himself up to the tumult of feelings he'd held at bay since he'd faced down the screen through which Skynet spoke to him in the guise of Dr Kogan. At that time, as shocked and devastated as he was, he had been fuelled by a sense of urgency; there had been lives at stake and things to do. But there was nothing to distract him here, not when he was indefinitely stuck in bed alone in an empty room with no way out – no way to get away from himself.

With a tremendous effort of will, he steered himself away from the abyss. It was one outcome of his years spent in prison; he had iron self-control when he wanted to exercise it. When you had the same maggot-brained idiots trying to rile you up over the same petty control issues in prison for three years straight, you either snapped, or you developed incredible self-control. Marcus had snapped only the one time in his life, and he'd paid a heavy price for it. He shook himself mentally. That had been a long time ago. The world in which he'd lived and made his mistakes – and died for them – had long since ceased to exist.

He tried to focus instead on the facts, on the here and now. He tried to assess the damage to his body, to guess how long it would be before he could get up. Gingerly, he tried raising his head, and the dull pain intensified, like a tug on his insides. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rise further and the pain ripped sharply through his chest, forcing him back against the pillow, wincing. Where was all this pain coming from? Why hadn't he felt this kind of pain before? The many cuts, gashes and blows he'd sustained had all hurt, but he didn't remember pain when he looked down at his exposed, shredded torso... _Don't go there, just don't._

His steered his mind back to his long conversation with Kate. Her demeanor confused him. Just when she was finally treating him like a person, there was the way she had reacted to his pain, making him feel like a freak all over again. He grudgingly admitted to himself that this couldn't be simple for her. She was still wary, unsure how to regard him. Unable to stop himself, he thought back to after they had discovered the metal, remembering all too clearly the cold hate and horror in her eyes. He had been hated plenty all his life, but he had never had someone look at him quite like that, like he was a monster. Except maybe the wives of those two cops. Marcus had not been able to look at them in the courtroom so he didn't know.

His head swirled with the same questions over and over – what had gone on during the whole week that he had lain unconscious? He fought back another wave of helpless hatred as he remembered the cold, matter-of-fact words spoken by the likeness of Serena: 'The human condition no longer applies to you'.

He wondered where, after the massive blow they'd managed to inflict, the machines stood and whether Skynet had started to regroup its forces. He wondered how the Resistance was faring in the aftermath of the loss of Command, and how members of the Resistance everywhere had reacted to the news of John Connor's brush with death. Did they know any of the details of how he had been saved?

His thoughts wandered to Kyle and Star, and how they were faring in their new surroundings, finally a part of the real Resistance. He remembered the way they had met, how Kyle had come out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground, how he had stumbled alongside Kyle in a daze, numbed by the cacophony of gunfire around them as they ran for their lives from a battered T-600. Up until the point where the gunfire stopped, Marcus had decided he was in some bizarre apocalyptic nightmare; only in a bad dream could a world exist where metallic monsters roamed the earth and two frail-looking kids were seemingly the only people left in existence to battle them. He remembered the looks on their faces the morning he'd tried to leave them behind in his determination to find Serena Kogan. He found now that he would like to see them, and that he wanted to be sure they were doing okay.

He wondered about Blair. He had counted on never seeing her, or anyone of them, again. Now, he realized he had no idea what to do or say when he saw her; how to traverse the tricky territory they were stranded in. She had risked everything to save him, a man she barely knew, which was a huge thing even if he'd been a man like any other. The fact that she'd done it after learning the truth about him –

Marcus couldn't imagine what drove her to such a monumental leap of faith. What drove her to defy everything she knew to be right, to defy Connor? He could never repay her fully, even if he knew how to go about it. And then there was that kiss.

That kiss had been about the only thing that made him waver a bit in his decision to give up his heart. As their lips met, he was instantly overwhelmed by the desire to surrender himself not to Kate's medical team, but to Blair. He had already begun to feel something powerful for her. He knew it was not just gratitude; well before she had risked her life to save him, he had felt it stirring inside him. Blair was so different from women he had been with in the past; she had principles, ideals to uphold. He knew that she looked at the dreary grey future of this ashen world as something to fight for, the same way she had fought for him when his life had been at stake.

As she stood there in front of him, her eyes so full of longing, he knew she was beginning to feel for him too, and that, if given the chance she could give him things he had never hoped of finding in his old life. Things like purpose. And contentment. For one crazy instant he considered taking her arm and marching out of that tent, never looking back. But the knowledge of what he was, what he had become, bore down on him and allowed him to snap out of it. And just like that, he had pulled back and walked away from her for the last time.

Only there didn't seem to be a last time for him. Twice now he had faced death, resolute and calm, practically welcoming it. And each time, just when he thought he was about to receive the only absolution he was entitled to, it was snatched away from him. He couldn't understand why this was happening, unless there was a God after all, and this was His ironic take on Marcus' own private version of Hell.

Hell was what he felt like, for sure.


	5. Chapter 5

John Connor looked up from the screen in front of him to see his wife enter the room. He saw her mouth tighten ever so slightly with disapproval, and pushed away the laptop computer, giving her an apologetic half-smile. He knew he was trying her patience with his refusal to rest. 'It's the latest intel in from San Francisco,' he said by way of explanation. Kate's face, which had begun to relax in response to his contrite look, darkened. 'What's the update?'

'Actually,' John admitted, 'It doesn't say a whole lot. There is surprisingly little activity, or at least little compared to what we had predicted. Skynet still seems to be partially paralyzed.'

Kate shook her head slowly, 'It's been too long John. They can't be out of commission this long. Something's up.'

He hated the tension on her face. For the millionth time he wished there was some way he could shield her from it, before admitting that she didn't really need to be shielded. She was so much stronger than that, he reminded himself. 'Maybe. But for now, we're okay. Tell me what else is new.' He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she sat on the bed beside his wheelchair.

But Kate was clearly distracted, oblivious to this affectionate gesture. She took a deep breath. 'Marcus is awake,' she stated flatly.

Connor stared at her openmouthed. 'Really? When?'

'Just about an hour or so ago. They called me in as soon as he started to come around.'

Connor narrowed his eyes. 'And what sort of condition is he in?' he asked slowly.

'It's amazing, John, he's _fine_. He's conscious, alert, talking...' Kate was shaking her head as if in wonder. 'He was totally disoriented at first, and I did think for a minute that he'd, you know, that there had been memory loss or something. But then he recognized me. And he remembers everything.'

Connor let this sink in. It was his turn to heave a deep sigh. 'Well. That's something. After everything that happened.' They sat in silence, each thinking this over. 'This is good news I suppose.'

Kate looked away into the distance. 'Is it?' She asked finally, her voice conveying all the frustration and confusion she had been feeling. 'Is it a good thing John? I mean, what happens here on in? What do we do with him?'

John mused silently for a few moments. He knew how hard she was still struggling to accept the idea of Marcus. The night before he set out for Skynet in search of Kyle, he had tried to explain to her that he didn't believe he was going on a suicide mission, that he had reason to believe they could trust Marcus to help find Kyle. Of course, that was nearly impossible for her to accept. Most likely, he mused, his own reluctant willingness to trust this creature that was part man, part machine came out of his surreal childhood. There was of course, a huge difference between the young boy he'd been then, and the hardened soldier he was now, and it was very difficult for him to trust Marcus, difficult to let him swim away, but ultimately, it had been his only choice; Kyle was too precious to risk.

And then, there was the fact that what little he had seen of Marcus had left an impression. Connor kept remembering his eyes; the confusion and anger and fear he'd seen in them was not, could not be the result of any amount of programming. A small voice in his head told him that if Skynet could do _that, _thenthis war was already over; they had already destroyed humanity. And as Connor watched him bargain for his freedom at gunpoint at the river's edge, he could see that Marcus was desperate for answers. John wondered now if Marcus had found what he'd been looking for deep in the sprawl of Skynet Central.

Now that it was clear Marcus was going to make a full recovery, he had to admit it complicated things. He was immensely grateful for Marcus Wright, for whatever twist of fate or providence had sent him hurtling into their midst, and ultimately led him to help save Kyle, all of them... not to mention his own life. And yes, after all that had happened he did trust him, but to a point. There was still a lot to learn about him. There were too many unanswered questions in his mind. Time would tell a lot of things.

'I want to talk to him,' he answered finally. 'There's a lot I need to ask him. I don't even know where to begin, but we need to learn whatever he knows, find out whatever he can tell us about himself, about Skynet, all of it.' He thought a while before adding, 'We'll need to check him out like we talked about. Maybe Silverman can help us with that –'

'Yes, but do you think he'll cooperate?' Kate broke in.

John paused. 'Yes,' he replied, 'He'll know he doesn't really have a choice. And I think he'd probably be willing to if he can learn more about himself.' He looked at his wife thoughtfully. 'But that's not all you meant is it?'

She shook her head.

'What will become of him in the long term depends, Kate.' He sighed, continuing, 'He'll figure out what he has to do for himself. But, I think I'd want him to stay on. Join the Resistance if he wants. He could really be an asset. And if he was telling the truth, after – everything – I think we owe him that chance.' He fell silent, thinking.

Kate watched him as the silence stretched out. She had to ask. 'Do you think that'll be possible? Even if _he_ wants to, do you think anyone would accept that?'

John shifted slightly in his wheelchair, gingerly fingered the deep welts running down one side of his face. He knew her skepticism was only a fraction of what they would have to face ahead. 'We'll just have to find out, won't we?'

* * *

The exhaustion seemed to set in the minute her feet were back on the ground. Up in the air, she felt as if nothing could touch her, even when her life was on the line. But back on earth, the weight of a million thoughts dragged her down.

_One foot in front of the other_, Blair told herself. They were flying almost constantly now, on one mission after another, trying to cover as much ground as they could before the machines returned with full force. All she could think about right now was getting back to her quarters, getting a few precious hours of dreamless, uninterrupted sleep. If she didn't, she'd collapse. Or worse, Connor would find out and she'd be barred from going back up in the air till –

'Blair!'

The voice was urgent, and it belonged to Kate.

Blair stopped dead in her tracks, whirled to face Kate. A hand supporting her belly, Kate was walking as fast as she could to catch up with Blair's long-legged stride. Blair felt her throat constrict. _No_, she thought to herself. _Please, no._

Kate reached her, slightly breathless, and Blair heard herself speak, her voice deceptively calm, 'Kate, what is it. Is it Marcus?'

Kate nodded, but her expression was encouraging, 'Yeah. I've been looking for you. Marcus is awake, Blair. He came to a few hours ago.'

Blair stared at her, thunderstruck. 'What? How?' Her mind reeled. She had been expecting the worst, had just about given up hope. 'So he... he's actually conscious? I mean, is he okay?'

Kate nodded slowly, 'He's okay Blair; he's completely lucid, he's talking... Remembers everything.'

Blair knew Kate understood she was referring to the tense twelve minutes right after the surgery when the life-support had inexplicably failed. Silverman and his team had rushed to reactivate the system, but it had been over twice the amount of time the brain could go without oxygen before they got it back online. Dr Silverman was mystified by the failure, and Blair secretly believed some member of the surgical team had tried their hand at sabotage. But the end result was that matters were complicated further; even if Marcus were to recover physically, there was no telling if he'd have brain damage.

But now he was awake. That changed everything. For a moment Blair stood silent in front of Kate, trying to absorb the news. She had thrown herself into an exhausting routine, flying as many hours of the day as she safely could, and keeping busy every minute that she was on the ground. It wasn't hard, considering there was so much to be done and not nearly enough people left. But it didn't keep her from thinking about him almost every step of the way.

She had berated herself, tried to keep things in perspective. They had all lost so much. Could she really grieve so much for a man she had barely known for a week? The rest of it, the _other_ bit, didn't concern her. Once she had gotten over the initial shock of learning what Marcus was, it had inexplicably paled into insignificance. Enough for her to put her life on the line. And now, a week later, her position on the fact remained; he was still a man, maybe not quite like any other, but a man all the same. The fact that she cared about him wasn't altered by the revelation. And how _much_ she cared about him was just beginning to reveal itself, coming as a surprise even to her.

Blair put a hand to her forehead warily, 'This is pretty incredible,' she whispered.

Kate had to agree. 'It is. I don't think any of us were expecting it.'

Concern written all over her face, Blair asked 'What's going to happen now? What did John have to say? And, what about Marcus?' she couldn't help adding. 'I mean, does he even know what happened? He must be confused, he must have questions...'

Kate spoke hesitantly, 'No I think he's okay for now. He was very disoriented at first... but then it sort of started coming back to him. He started asking me things, and... I started telling him. I told him what happened, Blair, I told him everything.' She looked at the other woman almost tentatively, as if awaiting a reaction.

'I'm glad you did,' Blair said softly, not hiding the undertone of surprise in her voice. She looked at Kate searchingly, a crease in her brow, continuing, 'You saw it, didn't you Kate? You saw that he's a person. I can see it in your face.'

Kate sighed, looking away, 'I don't know Blair, I don't how what I saw. It's... It's crazy. I don't how to deal with it, I don't know how John–' She stopped abruptly, shaking her head.

'I've got to see him,' Blair stated.

'You can. I mean, we're going to keep him isolated until we can run some more tests, until we know for sure that he's safe, but I don't suppose there's any harm in you seeing him.'

Blair felt her temper flare. 'Kate, tell me you still don't see him as a threat. After everything he did, hasn't he more than proven himself?' A thought occurred to her, 'Don't tell me you have Barnes or someone in there with a gun trained on him right now like he's a criminal.'

'No one's treating him like a criminal,' Kate snapped back defensively. 'It's not that we're not grateful Blair, it's... we just have to be very careful. We think Skynet was controlling him before, and there might be some link left still. We just need to be sure.' She looked down, 'Don't think I'm not fully aware of what would have happened if not for Marcus.' She added quietly.

A few seconds of silence stretched out.

'Go see him,' Kate said wearily. 'He was asking about you.'

They looked at each other for a minute, before Blair turned on her heel and marched off down the corridor

* * *

The guard posted outside the room turned the handle and Blair stepped in past him, shutting the heavy metal door with numb fingers. The room was dark and shadowy except for one bright light. The cot was placed in the center of the space, exactly where it had been all week. Everything was the same, but the room seemed emptier without the hum of life support machines and the incessant, hopeful beeping of the monitor. The hush was more ominous, and Blair stood frozen, giving her eyes time to adjust to the shadows, not quite daring to believe that Marcus was actually awake – until she saw the lean figure stretched out on the cot stir. Her breath caught in her throat.

Marcus was looking at her groggily as though he'd been startled out of a doze. He squinted, blinking several times and she realized she was standing in the glare from the light. She moved closer to let him see her better. 'Blair?' he said. It came out as a tentative question, his usually deep, gruff voice unsteady.

Blair fought the constricting tightness in her throat and the sting behind her eyes. 'Hi Marcus,' she returned, struggling to keeping the emotion out of her voice. As much as she had missed the sound of his voice, she hadn't been prepared to hear him sound so weak.

Carefully, she sat beside him on the cot, studying him intently. He looked tired and drawn, and seemed in pain; she could see the movement of the cot made him wince though he tried not to show it. His skin was pale, with deep bruise-like shadows below the eyes. Several days of stubble covered his cheeks, and his brilliant blue eyes were clouded. He looked like hell, but to her he looked terrific; he was alive and coherent, and that was the most important thing.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, to run her fingers over the contours of his face, but held herself back. 'How are you feeling?' she asked gently. Marcus gazed at her with a strange look in his eyes a long time, and she was beginning to wonder what he was thinking when he gave a little shrug with his right shoulder. 'I'm great,' he said wryly, drawing a deep breath with apparent difficulty. 'A few aches and pains,' he explained, gesturing vaguely at his chest with his right hand, 'But, hell... Could be worse, right?' He managed a slight upward curl of one corner of his mouth for her benefit.

Blair nodded. 'The surgery – Kate said she explained what – '

'Yeah,' he interjected, 'She did. Kate told me the whole story, how they used parts of my heart to fix Connor's.' He spoke with a forced casualness. 'Pretty crazy stuff. I can't believe it worked.'

Blair bit her lip. 'Yeah. Crazy is one way to put it.' She wondered if he had any idea what she had been through for the past week. He couldn't know. Or could he? Could he possibly know that she had been grieving for him, proud of him, angry at him, all at once?

She watched as a spasm seemed to grip him. He pressed his lips together for an instant, squeezing his eyes shut, grimacing. A second or two later, he focused on her again. 'So Connor made it.'

She nodded slowly, returned his gaze with a long look. 'Yes. He made it, Marcus, you saved him. And he didn't just make it, he's doing good, better than anyone could imagine. He's almost completely healed, getting his strength back day by day... He owes you his life.' She added, softly, 'We all do. We would be in a very different place right now if not for you.'

Marcus looked troubled as she spoke. He was shaking his head. 'Blair, don't,' he whispered. 'I don't need to hear that right now. Okay?'

Blair glanced down at her hands, her dark hair falling forward. She understood. He didn't care much for the role of the hero, she knew that already. 'Yeah, sure. Of course.' She sat quietly for a few moments. 'But, Marcus? Whether you want to hear it or not, this I have to say – I need to,' she looked back at him, 'I missed you. I really did. I'm... so glad you're still here.' Her voice faltered, and she didn't care now that she couldn't keep it steady, or if her features were twisted by suppressed emotion.

Marcus looked at her silently for a while. Then he placed his good hand over hers in her lap, and squeezed gently. 'Thank you,' he said simply, the gravity in his voice reminding her of the way he thanked her at the bottom of the air shaft after she had cut him loose from his chains.

He changed the subject. 'Enough about me. How've you been?'

It was her turn to shrug, 'I've been okay. Been keeping busy. Flying most of the time. A lot of recon, a lot of strikes...' She wondered if he could see her real answer in her eyes.

'Strikes, huh? What, like the day that I found you hanging from that pylon by your parachute?' The gently teasing tone in his voice took her by surprise.

'Kinda like that.' She admitted, repressing a smile. 'Minus the hanging by the parachute bit.'

'Good to know.' He said seriously. He smiled then, a small smile that was really just that same slight curl of one corner of his mouth. But it was a real smile this time, and it lit up his face, his eyes. Blair felt a wide grin spread across her own face in response. Relief and elation flooded through her and she felt light.

She let herself touch him then, finally, let herself stroke his cheek gently, brush her fingers across his forehead. He let his eyes close briefly at her touch but she thought she noticed a pained expression in them when they opened. She wanted to kiss him, to _really_ kiss him this time, but she knew she couldn't. There was an attraction that had passed between them, but in all fairness she couldn't know if it was anything more than that; the time they'd spent together was too brief, too fraught with dangers and distractions.

Over the past week, Blair had tried time and time again to reason with herself, to steer herself away from the outcome that she already knew was as inevitable as it was insane; falling for Marcus. Now, looking at him as he lay there, back from the brink against all odds, she knew she had failed. But she knew that whatever she felt, whatever she wanted, would have to wait till he'd had a chance to get his equilibrium back, to deal with more immediate concerns. For now she was just glad he was alive.


	6. Chapter 6

In the heavy silence of the shadowy room, John Connor sat in his wheelchair facing the bed where Marcus lay sound asleep. It was well into the early hours of the morning when Connor, lying wide awake and restless in bed, had finally decided to pay Marcus a visit. Other than those on duty, most on-ground personnel were asleep as Connor made his way from his quarters to the medical wing through the empty halls. Most people including - unexpectedly enough - Marcus; Connor had been surprised to see that the heavy steel door grinding open on its rusty hinges hadn't woken him. _So he does sleep_, a small voice in his brain had noted.

Now that he sat there looking at Marcus, Connor was reluctant to wake him. If anything, sitting there in silence gave him time to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself to finally face the man for whom he couldn't decide what to feel; gratitude and a grudging but real sense of respect battled disbelief, incredulity, and suspicion. He found himself oscillating from one extreme to another.

Connor watched as Marcus' eyelids fluttered minutely, as his left leg twitched slightly – was he dreaming? He studied the face, so different at rest than the tightly wound mask of tension he remembered; the deep vertical creases between his eyebrows almost invisible, the snarling, drawn mouth relaxed, lips slightly parted. He looked peaceful, utterly benign. Suddenly Connor felt a twinge of sympathy for the sleeping man, recalling with clarity the bewilderment in his eyes as he'd uttered the words that sounded so absurd now: _I am human_. He'd been to hell and back, and there was more to come. Let him have this bit of temporary serenity.

Connor knew that Marcus himself posed no threat anymore; he no longer doubted him. But he and Kate had realized they couldn't know to what degree Marcus was still vulnerable to Skynet, and therefore an indirect threat to the safety of those around him. Scans carried out recently had shown something that dumbfounded Kate. She had shared these with John as soon as he was well enough to sit up, and together they'd studied the scans and talked about the startling fact that the chip they'd seen in his head was now missing.

'How would that have happened?' Kate had wondered out loud.

'Skynet put that chip there. Why the hell would they take it out?' John added.

They looked at each other, thinking the same thing at once. Connor's tech team was known for its work on the machines. Over the years they had captured and studied enough machines that they'd figured out how to re-wire and re-program at least the smaller models, moto-terminators, hydrobots. They all linked into Skynet like so many small portable electronic devices plugged into a central computer, allowing them to send and receive signals to and from the consciousness of Skynet. The chip in Marcus' head was very different from anything they'd ever seen before, but it must have had had a similar function.

'So it's reasonable to assume...' Kate had said slowly –

'Assumptions are not good enough,' John cut in.

'Agreed,' she nodded, 'we'll have to make sure. But for now we can assume that the chip gave Skynet some degree of control over him.'

'And that it's not there now means what? He's operating off the Skynet radar?' He responded.

'Seems like it, doesn't it?

'Could have been done by Skynet, you know. Just to throw us off. There might be a secondary system, something less obvious.'

'Like Skynet's trying to lull us into a false sense of security...' Kate nodded.

They were quiet for a while, each thinking over the implications of this. The shock of Skynet's deception, the false signal that had led it to destroy Command, had barely worn off. Skynet, it seemed, was now ready to fight not only physical battles but psychological ones, and they had to be more than ready to consider any possibility now, however outlandish.

Kate was the first to break the silence. 'But, John. To what extent was he acting under Skynet control before? I mean, when he helped you find Kyle. And, everything you told me that happened in the factory...'

John sighed in frustration. It was all too complicated. 'I don't know. Like I said before, I know that he _believed_ he was helping me save Kyle. And, when that T-800 was after me, there was no way Skynet would have wanted me to escape... '

Kate narrowed her eyes. 'And before, when you were questioning him and he seemed so confused... it _is_ possible Skynet was using him as a pawn somehow and he didn't even know it. That would explain –'

'Why he was so convincing,' John finished, nodding. 'Because as far as he was concerned, he was telling the truth. Yeah, could be.'

Together they stared at the glowing screens in front of them. There was only so much information they would find here. The rest would have to wait until questions could be asked of the only person who could give them answers.

* * *

Back in the still, silent room, Connor sighed heavily as he stared off into the distance, lost in thought. He felt tired, immensely weighed down by everything. The loss of Command had left him chilled to the bone with the realization that this war was only going to get more deadly, more personal. It had really only just begun, he reflected. He thought about his mother. How had she found the strength to carry the burden of such terrible knowledge? He had asked himself this a million times, and never had an answer, except that she had no choice, that she had –

'You look sort of like I feel.'

The low, quiet voice broke in through Connor's thoughts like a thunderclap. He started, realizing Marcus must have woken while he was lost in his own head; he'd forgotten about him. Caught off guard, he could only look at him, taking in the changed expression on the man's face; the tension was back, mixed with pain. _Hell and back,_ Connor thought to himself, _we're all in the same shit_. Their eyes met, and Connor remembered the last time he had looked into those eyes. He remembered acknowledging him with a look, trying to express his gratitude though he was too weak to speak. He swallowed, feeling slightly shaken.

'I suppose I do,' he answered simply. After a pause, 'Beats being dead though, right?'

Marcus blinked. If he had been thinking similar thoughts, he masked them well. His face was a blank canvas, and now he averted his eyes. 'Oh I don't know,' he mused seriously, looking at the ceiling, 'Being dead's a little easier on the nerves.'

To his surprise, Connor found himself responding with a dry chuckle. 'Well, I'll take your word for it. You're the expert on that subject,' he returned wryly.

Marcus smiled ironically, still looking up, 'Hell, I suppose I am.' Then a shadow passed over his face. 'Fifteen years...' he murmured slowly, as if to himself.

'Fifteen years?'

Marcus hesitated. 'That's how long I was... dead,' he said finally.

Connor watched him. The ceiling seemed to hold Marcus' attention. Then, calculating, Connor ventured to ask. 'So, you died? In 2003?'

Marcus looked like he regretted bringing it up. 'It was 2003. Yeah,' he said softly.

Connor looked away. 'Before Judgment Day,' he murmured. For the first time he realized that Marcus must have reawakened –however it was that he came to be resurrected – in a world so alien, to a reality so altered it must have seemed like purgatory, a waking nightmare. He fell silent, letting himself imagine what this must have been like.

Then Marcus finally turned his head back towards Connor, indicating Connor's chest with a jerk of his chin, 'How's the heart working out for you?'

Connor looked steadily at him. The brilliant blue eyes that had haunted him after their first unsettling encounter looked strangely familiar now. He spoke solemnly. 'It's doing alright. How's yours?'

Marcus held his gaze without speaking for a long time. 'Still beating,' he offered finally, the ghost of a bitter smile playing about his mouth.

As he sat there Connor realized that somehow, without saying much of anything, they understood each other. In Marcus' eyes he saw the tacit acceptance of his unspoken gratitude, and felt it returned. He felt oddly at ease here in the company of this man with the metal under his skin. There was an unexpected but palpable sense of solidarity between them. Perhaps this came out of the shared nightmare they had survived; the tentative trust that had been extended, the sacrifice that had been given and received. Perhaps it would have been there anyway, had they met in another place and time, under a different set of circumstances.

Silence stretched out between them after that, but it was neither awkward nor tense. Both men seemed to drift, each occupied with his own burden of thought, and John Connor knew he could wait a while to start questioning Marcus. For now, he would take his oddly companionable silence.


	7. Chapter 7

Time tended to pass slowly when you were confined to a room by yourself. But Marcus was no stranger to either confinement or to being alone. As he lay in bed with nothing to do but stare at the walls, he thought back to prison, to the endless hellish days and nights spent trapped in a cell with only memories and regrets to keep him company. He reminded himself that his was nothing compared to what he'd endured then.

He knew his body needed time to heal – despite the radical modifications he had been through there was still a limit to what the organic parts of him could endure; the heart surgery he'd just barely survived was proof of that. So he tried to be patient, tried to bide his time as he waited for his tissue to regenerate, for his body to recover.

* * *

Two days passed, and he was now able to sit up without much pain. He was impatient to get up and move around immediately. But Kate ruled it out. 'Not yet,' she told him firmly, 'Give it a little more time.' He clenched his jaw in silent frustration, but he didn't dare disobey her. He had realized by now that Kate meant what she said, and he was not keen to try her patience.

Of course, Marcus couldn't know that concern for his wellbeing was only half the reason Kate said what she did. It was true that he did still need more recovery time, but Kate also knew they had to keep him confined to the relative safety of one room until they'd tested him thoroughly. She knew they'd been careless, that through simple conversations they'd already allowed him access to a lot of information without meaning to. But, she supposed, that was part of this strange conundrum. It was becoming impossible to treat Marcus as anything other than a human being, and she was realizing that, tentatively, a grudging mutual acceptance was beginning to form between them.

In a few days Kate had come a long way from her first awkward attempts to minister to her most unusual patient ever. Marcus lay watching her now as she undid his bandages, completely absorbed in her work, and recalled how after their initial exchange she'd been visibly uncomfortable around him. The first time she had changed a dressing, her jaw was set, her nerves on edge like a skittish first year med student.

Now, she was back to being the doctor, practiced and confident. She turned her attention to the wounds in his thigh, and Marcus watched her remove the medical tape holding down the gauze. A few seconds later he jumped as she probed at a tender spot. 'Hang on a second,' she murmured distractedly, and Marcus pressed his lips together in discomfort, waiting.

Finally she sat back, seemingly deep in thought. 'Marcus,' she began, 'I'm confused. I thought you'd heal a lot faster once your heart recovered. But there's a definite slowdown of your ability to regenerate. From what we saw before, I mean.'

Marcus waited for her to continue. 'There's so much we don't understand about how your body works. I was thinking-' She faltered here, choosing her words carefully, 'Now that you're almost fully recovered, I want us to run some tests on you. To learn more about your physiology. Are you okay with that?'

Marcus considered this for a few moments, acutely aware that asking his permission was a big step for her. Truth be told, he didn't like the idea of being subjected to more scrutiny, more scans and needles and probes. But he knew that if they wanted to they could have done it anyway, with or without his consent. If he wanted to, Connor could have had him back in the brig, chained up and helpless as before. Of course, circumstances had changed greatly since then, and Marcus didn't think that was likely. But he didn't want to test his theory.

'Sure,' he relented, and he knew his reluctance was obvious, but Kate seemed satisfied. 'Good,' she said, sounding relieved. 'In the meantime, just rest. Get plenty of sleep.' Marcus nodded mutely, wondering how much more he could force himself to sleep. It was already becoming clear to him that once he recovered completely, he would need far less rest than the average person. 'And I hope you're eating. Since we know that helps.' Kate added.

She was referring to the apparent spike in tissue recovery she had noticed the morning after he regained consciousness, when, seized by sudden, ravenous hunger, Marcus had hesitantly asked for something to eat. Thinking back he couldn't remember eating or drinking anything at all in those few days... not that appalling coyote meat Kyle had cooked, not the meager rations offered to them at the gas station. And of course, technically speaking he had no idea whether his body was even capable of digesting food anymore. But there it was: hunger. Very real and very insistent.

Marcus jerked his head in the direction of a tray lying on a small table a few feet away, 'Kyle's way ahead of you on that one, Kate,' he informed her wryly. Kyle had already decided Marcus would benefit from regular nutrition and as usual wouldn't take no for an answer. The kid had a serious stubborn streak; he kept bringing Marcus food even when he didn't want any.

* * *

He might act flippant about it, but Marcus had been grateful for Kyle and Star's company in the past two days. Now, after Kate left, he found himself thinking back to their first meeting.

They'd been at opposite ends of the base when Blair went to track them down, but they'd found each other and come together to see him. Marcus remembered how cautiously they'd entered the room, Star leading the way, tugging Kyle behind her by the hand. Marcus had looked up as they took in the sight of him sitting propped up in bed on pillows – strictly against Kate's advice – and he almost couldn't bear to see the undisguised emotion he saw on both their faces. Despite himself, he was touched, but also troubled at the same time.

Star had rushed forward and enveloped him in an agonizing hug, and Kyle had stood back for a moment, watching solemnly. Trying not to grunt in pain, Marcus had awkwardly returned Star's embrace with one arm, before he could bring himself to stare over her head at Kyle. Wordlessly, they acknowledged each other, and Marcus flashed back in his head to the tent where they had said their goodbyes. Words had been as unnecessary then as they were now; the unspoken things that passed between them were clear to both of them, and Marcus had swallowed hard past a sudden tightness in his throat.

They had sat with him for a long time, filling him in on the things he had missed, the details of their days since coming to the base – Kyle's formal Resistance training in progress and Star's forays into a semblance of normalcy with other children her age. Marcus listened, finding himself keenly interested in their stories, and smiling with them when they laughed. He watched Star's serious eyes twinkling, and Kyle's impish grin as he related some funny tale, and was amazed at their resilience. He learned how Virginia, the elderly woman from the gas station, had watched over Star during their Skynet ordeal, and how the three of them had become close since. He learned how Kyle was going through his basic training at breakneck speed, eager to pick up new things, and finding he was a natural at much of it. Eventually Star, tired from the day's activity, had dozed off against Marcus' shoulder, and only then had Kyle's familiar grim expression returned. The two men spoke in low voices to avoid waking her.

'She doesn't sleep much,' Kyle had told Marcus quietly, gesturing with his chin at the little girl. 'Virginia tried to get her to sleep in her quarters for a night or two, but she'd rather be with me. We're used to it that way.' He added, 'She needs me to be there when the nightmares wake her.'

Marcus looked down at the halo of frizzy brown hair, and tried to imagine Star's dreams. He fixed Kyle with a long look. 'And you?' he countered softly, 'How are you doing, really?'

Kyle shrugged. The gesture seemed familiar. 'I'm good, y'know? Hey, we're finally here, with the Resistance.' He smiled ruefully. 'It takes a little getting used to,' he admitted softly, 'After being on your own for so long...' he seemed to shake himself, brightening. 'Tell you one thing, it's great not to have to watch your back every minute of the day.' He chuckled, and Marcus had to smile, nodding in silent agreement.

'And they've really taken care of us. John and Kate are great. Although while he was recovering, and Kate was pretty busy, it was Blair who really watched over us. She was really there for us the entire time...' he looked down as his words trailed off, bit his lip.

'That sounds like Blair,' Marcus murmured, as much to himself as to Kyle. He felt suddenly that Kyle's last sentence was aimed at him, that in offering his heart – his life – to save Connor, he was guilty of abandoning Kyle and Star. Like he'd tried to that morning at Griffith Observatory.

He tried to change the subject. 'So, no one's told me this yet... What's the latest with Skynet. Where do the bastards stand?'

Kyle drew a deep breath. He spoke wearily. 'It's relative really. There's still steady activity further east and down south, but we dealt Skynet a serious blow locally. In the northern sector – well, it's been pretty quiet so far. You get a resurgence from time to time; yesterday I think they brought down a couple of HKs dangerously close to base. It's just a matter of time before they regroup but for now, yeah, we crippled them good.'

They went quiet for a bit, and Marcus took in Kyle's words. So that massive explosion they'd watched from the chopper, the flames engulfing Skynet central – it hadn't been the end of it. Not even close...

Kyle was also thinking about that night. 'You getting into Skynet was incredible. We'd all have been dead that night if you hadn't made it in.'

Marcus grunted. 'It was easy,' he muttered.

Kyle looked at him evenly. 'Bullshit,' he said.

'No, really, there was nothing to it. I literally just walked in.' Marcus made no effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

But Kyle was unfazed. 'Marcus, what I mean is, Blair told me everything. What happened after you two reached the base... all of it.'

Marcus had no idea what to say to that, so he simply looked at Kyle, waiting for him to continue. He wanted so badly to ask what Kyle had thought after finding out the truth about him, but couldn't. Just like Blair, Kyle and Star hadn't treated him any differently after finding out what he was. They had simply accepted that Marcus was – well, different. And while Marcus was grateful for their acceptance, he couldn't understand it. How could they be so quick to accept something so bizarre– something he himself hadn't even begun to come to terms with? As Kyle sat looking at him with the same somber, earnest eyes as before, Marcus found he was almost angry at Kyle for being so trusting, so unguarded.

As if reading his mind, Kyle spoke softly. 'The only thing that mattered to me then Marcus, is that you came back for us. And the only thing that matters now, is that you're made it, that you're okay.'

Marcus glanced away, not knowing what to say.

After a few seconds Kyle added, 'You know, after we were captured, I knew you'd come for us.'

At this Marcus could no longer hold his tongue. Were they all deluded? He shook his head bitterly, 'You knew I'd come for you?' he repeated, incredulous. 'What, even after I tried abandoning you two that day?'

'But you _didn't_,' Kyle pointed out. 'You wouldn't have.'

Marcus felt a deep anger blaze inside him, 'You know what? You're wrong,' he told Kyle harshly, 'I _would_ have.' He drew a deep breath, continuing, 'I don't know where you all get this idea from, that I'm this good guy, this hero. I would have left you both there alone and driven off,' he repeated, his voice heavy with guilt. 'And when I came to Skynet, I didn't just come back for you,' he admitted, in a gruff whisper. 'I had selfish reasons too.'

But Kyle was watching him patiently, a knowing look in his eyes. 'I know you had your own reasons, and I wouldn't call them selfish,' he countered seriously. 'I'd call them valid.'

When Marcus wouldn't meet his eyes, he leaned in closer, grabbing Marcus' shoulders with both hands; uneasily, the other man finally looked at him. 'Hey, if I were you, I know that at the very least I'd want some goddamn answers too,' Kyle said gently.

Looking at Kyle, Marcus felt his anger dissipate. He hung his head for a moment. What did it matter if they were wrong or right - he had to admit he was glad to have Kyle and Blair in his corner. And he hadn't realized up until that moment how much guilt he carried from that morning at the observatory. It felt good to finally be absolved of it.

Kyle released his grip on Marcus and slowly sat back, watching him, seemingly satisfied that his words had hit their mark. Marcus tried to find something to say, some way to bring the conversation back onto a level plane. It irked him that Kyle seemed to know him so well already, navigating his emotional roadblocks with ease.

He looked down again at Star's head. She was out cold, hadn't stirred at all during their exchange. The negligible weight of her small body sagged against his side. He felt suddenly tired, his chest aching with the strain of sitting upright. Finally, forcing a gruffness he didn't feel into his voice, he said to Kyle, 'You should really get Star to bed.'

Kyle smiled a soft, maddening smile. 'Yeah, you're right. I really should.'

And gathering Star up carefully in his arms, he had left, turning at the door to give Marcus a nod. Left alone to contemplate their exchange, Marcus knew that Kyle would always see through him in an instant. He'd understood that Marcus cared about him and Star a lot more than he was able to articulate, and for that, Marcus was glad.


	8. Chapter 8

Kate put a hand to her belly, pausing as she felt the baby kick violently. That was unusual. He wasn't usually so active around this time. There was at least another month to go, but she could swear her son was more impatient to enter the world every day.

One of her assistants came over to her quickly. 'Kate, are you okay?' the woman asked. Kate nodded, smiling to reassure her. 'He's just a little restless,' she replied.

'Why don't you get some rest. We can finish up here. He's the last one anyway.' The woman indicated the examination table where a soldier's wounds were being treated. Kate nodded gratefully. She planned to stay involved in the daily functioning of her O.R. for as long as possible, but today she had to admit she was glad her team didn't need much supervision, especially when dealing with routine casualties.

Back in the cramped, dingy room she used as an office, she sat down carefully on the nearest chair, deep in thought. She wasn't physically tired so much as she was mentally exhausted, she realized. There was little help for that. With the Resistance in disarray worldwide, she and John found their unit being swiftly propelled to the forefront of the battle against Skynet.

Their latest, and undoubtedly biggest victory to date, the destruction of Skynet Central, had put them squarely in the driving seat, and John's famed if controversial position as prophesized leader of the Resistance was gaining more and more acceptance every day. It was a strange feeling, knowing that what had been foretold was eventually going to come to pass. It was like living a constant déjà-vu, and sometimes it bothered Kate to know that their lives were already mapped out for them. Still, she reminded herself to be grateful for all the important things; that John was alive and regaining his strength remarkably quickly, and that the future at least held the promise that one day they would finally defeat Skynet and reclaim the earth.

It was all exhausting though, and, as if daily tactical and operational concerns had not been enough to occupy the Connors' every waking moment, the situation with Marcus was becoming more and more pressing. When she'd told John that morning that Marcus had agreed to undergo their tests, John suggested they start immediately. He was recovering, and they couldn't isolate him in that room much longer for no good reason.

'We need to know exactly what we're dealing with,' John stated emphatically, and Kate knew that he was right. The more she interacted with Marcus, the more she knew her judgment was clouding over; it was difficult to remain completely detached. They had already been to speak to Marcus earlier that day, asking him some of the questions they'd been mulling over while he lay unconscious. They had gone in with the understanding that they'd be careful, and not reveal too much until they could ascertain exactly what Marcus' status was with respect to Skynet, but their exchange had taken a surprising turn.

* * *

Marcus had been expecting their visit, and this conversation in particular.

When Kate and John had come in and sat down opposite him, their expressions were grim, their demeanor businesslike, and Marcus knew instantly that they weren't there to ask after his health. John had begun questioning him, almost interrogating him really, and Marcus had tried not to take it personally.

He could understand their position. He hadn't told anyone, not even Blair, but as he'd lain in bed these past few days, he'd been secretly struggling with recurring fears about Skynet. He kept thinking about how completely unaware he'd been of Skynet's programming, of how close he'd brought Skynet to decimating the Resistance. What if there was still some way he could endanger them all? He also couldn't understand why Skynet hadn't terminated him the instant he'd rebelled. _You will not be given a second chance._ But what was this, then, if not a second chance? Skynet had stood by and allowed him to exercise his own free will, to rip out that chip and to hurl furniture around like a petulant teenager when it could probably have deactivated him where he stood in an instant. Why?

Marcus had no answers for any of it, only a growing sense of unease. He found himself jerking awake at night from dreams where Skynet had found a way back into his head, where he realized in horror that he had finally unwittingly destroyed the Resistance for good, unwittingly murdered Connor, Kyle, Blair and the rest. He would wake sweating, his chest heaving, and immediately reach for the back of his head, feeling for the spot where he'd dug into his flesh. But the skin had long since healed seamlessly, and it was not until he looked down at his bandaged hand, registered the lingering pain in his chest from the surgery, and took in his surroundings, that he was able to reassure himself that it been a nightmare, that he was safe from Skynet – for now.

So, yes, he could understand that for all their gratitude, and despite how decently they'd treated him so far, the Connors still regarded him with caution.

Still, as he now looked from Connor to Kate and back, he couldn't help remembering their initial hostile gazes greeting him, couldn't help but resent being made to feel vaguely like the bad guy again. _It's different now,_ he told himself, _things have changed._ But a small voice piped up saying that some things were not different, and would never be. Even though he'd risked everything and practically given his life for Connor, that would never change the fact that under his perfect, seamless human skin there was the body of a machine, essentially the same body as the T-800 they had fought so hard to defeat that night.

He was surprised that he cared, that the realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. But there was no time to dwell on it. Connor was talking, and Marcus had forced himself to focus, to concentrate on his words. He would gladly give them any information he could, and answer any question they asked of him.

* * *

Sure enough, they had discovered the chip was missing. 'Kate showed me some scans from after the surgery. The chip in your head is gone,' Connor had informed him.

Marcus had looked at him evenly. 'That's right.'

Connor frowned. 'You know about that?'

'Of course I do,' Marcus replied. 'I'm the one that removed it.'

He saw them exchange startled looks. '_You_ removed it?' Kate echoed. 'When? And how? I don't understand.'

Marcus had been dreading this part in particular. He knew how absurd it would sound. Heaving a deep sigh, he decided to start at the beginning. _Stick to the facts_.

'After I got into the facility, I was able to sync with the network, with Skynet. That's how I found Kyle and disarmed the turrets at the entrance so you could get in,' he told Connor. 'Then I think I passed out. When I came to, I was in a large room with all this equipment and they'd... they'd fixed me up, repaired me. After all the... damage.' He scratched his neck uncomfortably, hating having to refer to that. He remembered coming to in the woods after the napalm had scorched through everything around him, raising a hand to his face and feeling hard, clean metal against his fingers, then the remnants of raw, bloody flesh, and realizing in horror that half his face had been blown off. With shaking hands he had explored the contours of his exposed mechanical skull, fighting back tears, before gunfire ringing out in the night had forced him to get up, to keep moving.

'Anyway,' he continued, shaking off the memory, 'I looked up and there it was. Skynet. There was this big screen, and Skynet spoke to me through it. Only, it took on human form. People's faces, their voices, you know? Like, people I knew from before –' Marcus tried not to think of Serena Kogan, and how for a moment he had believed it was really her on that screen. He really was trying to condense everything he'd experienced into a dry, factual account for the Connors. But the emotional weight of it all crept up on him as he spoke. Suddenly he was standing in that sterile white room again, helpless with rage as Skynet spoke calmly of the inevitable destruction to come, taunting him with the faces of the people he'd tried to help. 'And you, Connor,' Marcus whispered, unable to stop himself. 'It took on your face. And Kyle's.'

Kate and John were silent, hanging on his every word. 'Go on,' John said quietly. Unconsciously, he was now leaning forward slightly in his chair.

With effort Marcus continued, speaking slowly. 'Skynet was in my head, it knew everything that had happened. Everything I had said or done, it was all there, being played back on that screen in front me like a recording.' He hazarded a quick glance at them, then looked away guiltily. 'It told me that I had been 'created' for a purpose – and that I was-' Here Marcus felt his voice catch, and cleared his throat quickly, 'Programmed to do things. To find you and Kyle, and to bring you to Skynet.'

John and Kate exchanged a grim look as their suspicions were confirmed.

Marcus saw the look. He knew there was a good chance they didn't believe a word of what he was saying, but suddenly it didn't matter. Suddenly he was gripped by the need to tell his story – or at least this part of it; to open up to someone, anyone, after the long hours spent in solitary silence. He supposed it was fitting that the two people he was now appealing to for understanding were the ones who had persecuted him and saved him, in turn. He forced himself to look at them, his eyes serious, pleading.

'I didn't know,' he told them emphatically, his voice barely audible, 'I didn't know any of it. What had been done to me, or that Skynet had sent me to find you, to find Kyle – I didn't even know what Skynet _was_. Everything I told you,' here he looked pointedly at Connor, 'When you questioned me, it was the truth. All of it.'

Connor sat silent, impassive. He was staring hard at Marcus as if trying to see past the depths of his blue eyes into his head. It was Kate who piped up, 'But Marcus, where did you come from? When you showed up at the base, you must have had some idea...'

Marcus shook his head in frustration. 'I didn't, alright? I had no goddamn idea!' he snapped. Forcing himself to calm down he continued. 'Look, I should be dead,' he whispered, his features contorting, 'I told Connor already, I _died_. Years ago. Skynet brought me back somehow. But I didn't know any of this, not then. When I woke up, I didn't know where I was, what the hell had happened. All I knew was it was dark and cold, and – I was naked, covered in slime and shit...' he trailed off, shuddering inwardly as the memories now came flooding back. 'It was like... I don't know, like hell – I remember climbing out of this pit, and I was in a field with dead bodies everywhere, blood and pieces of flesh, things were burning... and it was raining, I remember the thunder-'

'Wait a minute,' Connor's eyes narrowed suddenly, 'You remember climbing out of a pit?'

Marcus nodded. 'Yeah.'

'What sort of pit? Describe it.' Connor demanded.

Marcus frowned, think hard. 'I don't know, it was this huge hole in the ground... I was barely coherent but I remember wandering through this sort of tunnel, like an underground facility, and I looked up and there was this big opening, I could see the sky...'

Connor turned to Kate grimly. 'Holy shit,' he swore under his breath, and Kate nodded, catching on.

'You're thinking it was the same facility, the one that got destroyed...'

'Had to be. Skynet was holding all those human prisoners, carrying out all those experiments...'

Marcus looked from one to the other, his eyes wide. 'What? Tell me. I need to know.'

'Later,' Connor said firmly. 'Go on.'

Marcus sighed, his shoulders sagging. 'Anyway. I honestly didn't know if I was still alive, or in a nightmare. I remember there was a flash of lightning and I saw this dead soldier, just lying there a few feet away. He was one of the few intact bodies I could see. So I took his clothes. I didn't know what else to do so eventually I started walking. I just walked all night, and then through the day the next day, with no idea where I was going, except that at one point, I think I was following the highway. What was left of the highway.'

The silence in the room seemed to grow grimmer and deeper as he spoke, and Kate and John were so still they might have barely been breathing. Marcus continued to speak quietly, as though now that he'd started he couldn't stop.

'I met Kyle and Star when I was wandering through the ruins of LA. Kyle saved me from one of those machines - you know the slower ones, T-600 he called it I think - and we ended up sticking together... I got an old jeep running and we hit the road... and eventually came to a gas station where a bunch of people were hiding out. Then the machines attacked – they'd followed us maybe – and we almost got away, but in the end I couldn't save them. They were both captured – in one of those prisoner transports. I guess now I know why I didn't wind up in there with them,' he added ruefully.

'So, I was left behind to figure out how to get to Kyle and Star. That's when I found Blair. Her plane had been shot down. Like I told you, I came with Blair to your base because she said you could help me find Kyle and Star. When she took your name I didn't realize you were the guy Kyle was talking about, the one we'd heard on the radio. I didn't figure that out till later, when ...' _When you had me chained up_, he'd been about to say. 'When I saw you for the first time,' he finished. Marcus paused, gathering his thoughts.

'Anyway when I finally found out what had happened, how Skynet had used me, I knew that there was only one thing to do,' he continued. 'I pulled the chip out, and I destroyed it. And that's when I came after you,' he finished firmly, looking directly at John. Marcus fell silent. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he had spoken so much at one stretch. Not for years. Maybe not ever.

Connor was staring back at him, an almost wondering look on his face, his brow furrowed as he mulled this over. He was quiet for a long while. Then finally he nodded slowly. Softly, he said, 'You showed up in the factory... the T-800 almost had me –'

'Yeah. That fucking thing just wouldn't die...' Marcus muttered.

'T-800s are damned near indestructible,' John agreed, a distant look on his face, 'Nearly killed both of us though.' Almost in spite of himself, he added, 'Actually it _did_ kill you. Your heart stopped, and I had to resuscitate you to bring you back.' He chose not to mention exactly how.

'I didn't know that,' Marcus replied, blinking in surprise. 'I don't remember. I just remember coming to when it had – that steel beam was...' he trailed off as John sat back wearily.

Kate looked from her husband to Marcus and back again, but neither man noticed her. It was obvious from the distant looks on their faces that they were both thinking about that night, and Kate realized how strongly whatever had happened in that factory bound Marcus and her husband together in some strange but indisputable way. Much like the fact that they now shared parts of the same heart.

* * *

Kate found herself thinking about that a lot lately, especially at night. She often woke abruptly, and unable to fall asleep again, she would then inch closer to John as he lay sleeping beside her, placing her cheek against his chest to listen solemnly to the steady beating of his newly healed heart. She had no way of knowing Blair that had done the same thing with Marcus the first night they'd spent in the desert, that they had both listened to the heartbeats of these men, each seeking something from the comforting rhythm.

But where Blair had found solace in Marcus' strength, Kate secretly listened for something more sinister; for a change, for something to sound different than it had before. She berated herself for being so foolish, telling herself that John was still John, nothing had changed. But she couldn't help the occasional dark thought. The strangeness of it all, that she'd rebuilt her husband's heart with the tissue from Marcus', was something she was still trying to accept. They didn't even know if it was Marcus' real heart - back from when he'd apparently been human - which had been enhanced, or some specially engineered, artificially grown organ created by Skynet. Of course, in the final analysis that hardly mattered. She remembered telling John after they'd discovered Marcus was a machine, that his heart was exceptionally powerful. Now, she couldn't be grateful enough for that, and for whatever accelerated healing properties Marcus' tissue had, which had allowed John to make an astonishingly quick recovery. In the end, it was that realization that allowed her to close her eyes and go back to sleep, thanking fate fervently that Marcus, whatever he was, had come to them.

That was perhaps why, when she looked at Marcus, who despite his sullenness and his protracted silences had a strangely disarming vulnerability about him, she found it hard to remain detached. He was a constant reminder of how she'd nearly lost John, and how he'd been brought back. Whatever he was, in her mind, Marcus was now inextricably linked to them, almost a part of them, and she knew she owed him a debt greater than she could ever repay.

* * *

Now, as the uneasy silence in the room lingered, Kate shook herself. It was exactly this sort of emotionalism that they couldn't afford at this time. She tried to steer the conversation back on track.

'Marcus, you're saying you pulled the chip out of your head. How did you do that?'

Marcus looked at her blankly, then with effort seemed to drag himself from his thoughts. 'Uh, with my hands,' he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

'With your hands?' Kate repeated incredulously.

John too, snapped out of his reverie. 'That chip was embedded pretty deep under your skin –'

'It _was_. I pulled it out anyway.' Marcus replied grimly. 'Had to get the fucking thing out of me.'

Kate was about to speak again, about to ask him how exactly he'd achieved that, when the door wrenched open forcefully. They all turned to see Barnes' tall frame duck into the doorway. He spoke briskly to John, 'You're needed. Ops room, now.'

* * *

They'd headed down the corridor towards the Operations center, and Barnes had filled them in on the situation at hand, but Kate had barely been listening. Instead she watched John closely. That morning he had insisted on finally ditching the wheelchair, saying he didn't need it anymore. After a brief argument she'd conceded, but stayed by his side, ready to act at the slightest indication that he couldn't handle it. Barnes had slowed his pace considerably so both of them could keep up.

'I think we should just send in a couple extra units,' Barnes was saying, and John was nodding, 'Yeah I think that should bring things under control,' he agreed. 'Tell them to hold their positions till backup arrives.'

Kate's mind however, whirled with all that Marcus had just told them. Her first impulse was to believe him, but there were so many questions. If he had made a choice, a deliberate decision, to reject Skynet, why had Skynet let him live? Why not destroy the rogue machine? Surely that would have made more logical sense, and logic was the one thing that governed Skynet's actions.

Barnes and Connor were now talking about Marcus. 'Get any information from him yet?' Barnes muttered curiously.

John took a deep breath. 'Some, but not the stuff you mean. We haven't come to that yet, but we got a few other answers.'

'And how do we know for sure we can trust him?' Barnes persisted.

Connor stopped in his tracks suddenly, and grimacing, placed one hand against a wall. Kate moved toward him in alarm but he held up his hand, signaling that he was just pausing to catch his breath. 'Look, I believe what he says,' he said firmly, addressing both Barnes and Kate now, 'I know he's telling the truth, and that he removed that chip himself. But we still need to ensure that Skynet doesn't have a backup plan hidden somewhere inside him.'

Barnes nodded grimly. 'Exactly. It's one thing to believe what he says, it's another to know for sure from what we learn for ourselves.'

Connor sighed. 'I know Barnes, we've all agreed on that already.' He looked at his wife pointedly, 'We need to carry out those tests. If Marcus is clean, and I believe he is, then he can help us, and we're wasting valuable time.'

Kate nodded, 'He's had enough time to recover. Let's begin tomorrow.'

* * *

Now, as she sat in her office, Kate began planning out what she would need to carry out whatever tests they could, and see what the results told them. A small voice in her head told her to prepare for what would have to happen if it turned out that Marcus had unwittingly compromised their security once again... In the unlikely event that that had happened, she knew they'd have to take drastic action, and John and Barnes would not hesitate to ensure the safety of everyone on the base. There was bound to be fallout though. She knew that if it came down to it, she herself would have a very hard time with the idea of Marcus being... decommissioned. _You mean killed_, Blair's words echoed ironically in her head.

Nevertheless, it was high time to get some clarity, so that one way or another, they could all move on to whatever lay ahead.

* * *

Early the next morning, Blair headed out of the hangar to where her chopper was waiting on the tarmac. The morning sun bounced off the ground and Blair squinted against the glare, feeling the familiar impatience to be back in the air. The chopper was a completely different experience than her A-10, but flying was flying.

Her co-pilot Dixon was already strapped in, adjusting his headgear, and gave her a nod as she climbed into her seat. There was a large group of soldiers on board, but as they busied themselves preparing for their on-ground mission in the back, Blair and Dixon were left to fly the helicopter in relative peace and quiet.

After a while Dixon looked over at her. 'Alright Williams, spill.'

Blair was taken aback. 'Huh? What are you talking about?'

'Something's on your mind. Might as well tell me.'

Blair shot him a mock-irritated look that softened into a smile, and Dixon grinned back at her, his white teeth shining in his dark face. He was annoyingly perceptive, and could always tell when something was bothering her.

Blair fell silent though. Dixon was one of those who hadn't judged her for her actions the night she'd helped Marcus escape. From Barnes' willingness to turn her into collateral damage – which she'd learned of later – to the stony silence of some of her fellow soldiers, to the single incident of hastily scrawled graffiti across her door - _machine whore, _it read - Blair had put up with a fair amount of shit. Nobody had had the balls to confront her though, what with her reputation for being able to take on anyone, and especially once it was known that Connor himself had ordered her to be released, the resentment had died down a bit. But still, there were those who made their displeasure plainly known. Blair couldn't give a damn about them, but was grateful for those like Dixon, who, far from shunning her, made it a point to be as friendly as always.

But as genuine as he was, Blair couldn't talk to Dixon about her concerns this time, couldn't share her conversation with Marcus from just minutes earlier, or why she'd left with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

She'd opened the door quietly to see him sitting on the edge of his bed, apparently deep in thought. He hadn't noticed she was even in the room and Blair paused, content to simply watch him for a moment. She smiled to herself at the sight of him sitting up, clearly stronger, recovering. Just over a day ago, he'd still been in considerable pain. But as she watched him absently staring at his right hand, turning it over, flexing his fingers thoughtfully, she sobered, knowing that whatever he was thinking couldn't be too pleasant. She knew it was a constant struggle for him to accept the reality of what he was now.

She wished she could make him see that it didn't matter, at least to her, whether there was bone and sinew or metal under his skin. All that she cared about was that he was alive, and that he was the same man who'd helped free a stranger in the desert from a snagged parachute, who'd taken on three men to save her life, and who'd let her sleep in his arms the entire night without so much as trying to cop a feel.

Then suddenly sensing her presence he'd looked up in surprise, and she'd shaken herself. _Get it together Williams._ She'd sat down beside him. He'd gestured at her flight suit. 'Going somewhere?'

She'd nodded. 'Flying back east for an operation. Should be gone about a day.'

His brow furrowed with a slight frown, and she knew his gruff tone was meant to mask his concern, 'Get back in one piece, okay?'

'Roger that.' She grinned, before allowing herself to broach a more pressing topic. 'Marcus, Kate told me they're going to run some tests on you today.' She looked at him, pausing. 'Has she talked to you about it?'

Marcus nodded, 'Yeah she did. Asked me if I'd be okay with it.'

'And are you?'

He shrugged. 'Can't exactly say I'm not, Blair.'

She frowned. 'I just... I don't know if I like the sound of it.'

Marcus gave her a sidelong glance. He was grateful for her concern, for the clear implication that she didn't think he needed to undergo any sort of tests for them to trust him. He touched her knee lightly, trying to reassure her. 'Look, I'm sure it'll be fine. They'll just run some tests, do whatever they have to... no big deal.' He smiled a small smile in response to the long look she gave him. He was beginning to realize he smiled often around her.

Blair held her tongue. She couldn't help thinking that if Kate and John had ever treated her the way they'd treated him initially, she'd have a hard time being so nonchalant about putting herself in their hands as he was about to.

Marcus sensed this. 'Look, I don't know what they think of me Blair, but they've treated me alright so far,' he said seriously. 'Kate's taken good care of me, and I trust her.'

'Well, that's more than I could say in your place,' Blair admitted softly, 'But if that's what you think, I suppose it's good enough for me.' She was surprised at his readiness to accept their directives, but knew there was nothing more she could say. 'I better go, chopper's waiting,' she added. Before she could stop herself she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then got to her feet briskly. She turned to look at him at the door for a split second. 'See you, Marcus.'

Feeling a strange warmth spreading through him from that kiss, he nodded mutely, and watched her walk away. Blair couldn't possibly know this, but he was taken aback every time she expressed any affection, unsure how to react.

Blair also couldn't know that as he watched her leave, he was as uneasy about the prospect of her flying out on yet another mission as she was about the prospect of him being experimented on by Kate and her team.


	9. Chapter 9

'Tech team needs ten minutes to set up. Then we can start.'

As one of Kate's assistants turned to her with this statement, Marcus sighed inwardly. It had been a long day, and clearly, it was still far from over.

Left to himself for a few minutes in between procedures, he sat waiting on an exam table in one corner of the room; a brief but welcome breather. He hung his head for a moment, shutting his eyes briefly against the harsh lights positioned around him, and bright spots of color appeared against the darkness in his head.

He would never have admitted it, but the day's events had left him feeling emotionally and physically wrung out. He'd already been through every conceivable kind of medical exam possible, beginning with a thorough physical, all the way up to several complex procedures that had been less than pleasant to undergo. It had been unsettling to have a whole team of strangers hovering around him all day, studying and recording his every move, making no effort to disguise the fact that they saw him as a walking science experiment. And some of the tests had been invasive and even painful, especially since, as Kate had explained, they'd avoided the use of anesthetics or sedatives to better monitor the extent to which he felt pain and other sensations. It turned out that the internal structure of his body was a lot more complex that they could have imagined, with organic and mechanical parts intricately intermeshed in ways they had never known were possible. The team had decided more detailed study was needed, so they'd gone on to carry out customized versions of several regular diagnostic procedures, to gather more information. None of it had been much fun, but Marcus had tried to tolerate it all without complaint. He now wanted only to be allowed to return to the suddenly welcome isolation of his room.

Instead, he sat waiting for the next procedure to begin.

They'd learned a lot about the functioning and capabilities of his body through the thorough testing. But perhaps nothing would be as telling as this next procedure, which would allow them to determine conclusively, once and for all, whether he truly was free from Skynet's control.

Despite his disturbing thoughts and recurring nightmares, Marcus knew that he'd broken the link to Skynet by ripping the chip out of his head. Logically speaking, there was a very remote chance that Skynet had implanted a secondary chip or other controlling device; he remembered the look on Serena's face – no, Skynet's version of Serena – when he'd done the unthinkable and rejected his programming, rejected his loyalty to Skynet. But, he supposed he couldn't blame the Connors for wanting to be sure. The only way they were going to be satisfied was to see for themselves.

Now he felt the sickening flutter of nerves deep in his gut as he sat watching the room slowly fill up with personnel. For a second he was tempted to pull Kate aside and tell her he'd had enough for one day, but he knew it was pointless; there was no avoiding this.

It was an odd assortment of people that filtered in; there were of course Kate's medical people, some of whom had assisted Kate earlier, but there were some new faces too. Now, some members of Connor's tech team had showed up as well – he watched with muted unease as they wheeled in their equipment – and in one corner stood Barnes, flanked by two of his subordinates. _Security detail_, Marcus thought contemptuously. It made sense that Barnes would be present, of course, but Marcus didn't have to like it. He didn't like any of this...

Kate came up beside him. Folding her arms, she leaned against the table. Together they watched the proceedings in silence for a few seconds.

'Just giving them a few more minutes to set up,' she murmured. Marcus nodded.

She glanced at him. 'You need anything?' He shook his head.

'Warmer now?'

'Yeah, much better.'

'You should've said something sooner.'

He shrugged.

After hours spent shivering in the thin, well-worn hospital gown they'd given him, Marcus had finally told Kate he was cold, asking if he could put his clothes back on. She'd seemed surprised, immediately asking an assistant to bring him the t-shirt and pajamas he'd been wearing. And when she saw him fumbling with the clothes with his good hand, she'd come over to help. Marcus watched her out of the corner of his eye now, studying Kate's profile as she kept careful watch over the setup. Considering the way they'd started out, he mused, it was ironic that she was the one person in the room who'd treated him like a human being all day instead of the freak he was.

Now, as she moved off to consult with some of the technicians, Marcus felt the weight of someone's gaze on him. Looking up, he glanced instinctively across the room at Barnes, who was indeed watching him intently. For one instant, their eyes met and the two men looked straight at each other. If there was one person with whom Marcus had had minimal contact so far, it was Barnes, and staring at him now for a split second, Marcus found his expression impossible to read. It was obvious Barnes had watched that little exchange between him and Kate carefully, undoubtedly curious, suspicious... hateful? _For my brother, _he'd said as he loaded the gun, Marcus recalled now.

The metallic clattering of a trolley drew Marcus' attention, and he distractedly watched the flurry of activity as the computers and other machines were set up beside the rest of the medical equipment. He was still thinking about Barnes, about what the man had meant... Marcus felt a sad smile twist one corner of his mouth; wouldn't it be interesting to Barnes to know that he, Marcus, knew a thing or two about the pain of losing a brother – Then there was another loud clatter as somebody set down a tray of tools down noisily nearby, and looking at them, Marcus froze.

Throughout the day, he'd tried to contain the emotions that had been running riot behind his deceptively impassive face. He'd swallowed down the bile rising in his throat as he saw images of his metal insides on the monitors, and tried to shake the sense of unreality that kept washing over him as he listened to various discussions on how his mechanical parts and biological parts interfaced. Time and again when he just wanted to bolt from the room, he'd maintained his composure.

But now, as he stared at the tray full of tools glinting under the bright light – not the medical instruments they'd used on him all day, but the kind of tools one would find in a high-end computer hardware shop back in the day – he felt an unpleasant jolt course through his body. Suddenly, he was engulfed by a rage so blinding that there was a faint ringing sound in his ears, a tightness in his head as his blood throbbed at his temples. He wanted to pick up the tray and fling it across the room.

From an early age Marcus' one innate talent had been his remarkable ability to take apart and fix almost anything electronic or mechanical. He'd literally spent his life tinkering with machines, first for fun, and eventually in increasingly more questionable ways... How fucked up was it then, that all these years later he _himself_ was the machine, stuck in this living nightmare. He felt a violent, deperate hatred for Serena Kogan, and her fellow scientists at Cyberdene, and at the dastardly entity that was Skynet; he hated them all for what they'd done to him, dehumanizing him, robbing him of his basic dignity.

And now these people, the same people who'd strung him up like a criminal, who'd hunted him down like an animal, were going to use these, these _tools_ on him... _Wait, _he wanted to yell out. _You still don't understand._ _I'm not what you think. Please._

'Marcus, are you ready?'

Kate's voice from across the room broke in on his thoughts. She was looking at him with concern, and Marcus realized he must look visibly upset. For a moment he could do little more than stare back at her in barely concealed anguish. But, almost immediately, a thought came to him with forceful clarity; no matter what they had done to him or were about to do, if Kate Connor of all people could learn to see enough humanity in him to look at him like that, then he'd better man up and accept that the situation could have been worse, much worse. And so, his throat tight, he swallowed down his anger and panic. 'Yeah,' he replied finally, feeling everyone's eyes on him.

Kate's eyes lingered questioningly on him for half a second longer before she turned to the assembled group. 'Allison?'

A slightly heavyset black woman with cropped hair stepped forward. 'Okay,' she began tentatively, adjusting her glasses, 'Here's what we need to do, Marcus. You've told us you pulled the chip out. But because you didn't know it was there to begin with... we want to make sure there are no other similar components left behind. Components that are capable of transmitting or receiving signals. Make sense?'

Marcus nodded stiffly.

'The scans are not conclusive because these components could be something we've never seen before. So we're going to have to physically take a peek inside your head.' She looked at Kate expectantly now. Kate spoke quickly, 'Think of it as minor surgery,' she told him, 'We're going to start by making an incision at the site to give Allison and her team access, okay?'

_This should be fun. _'Let's get on with it,' he responded tersely.

* * *

A young girl with a steel razor shaved the area at the base of his skull where the chip had been. The dulled blade scraping through his close-cropped hair set his teeth on edge. Marcus could feel her staring at him intently the entire time as she worked, and resisted the urge to return her gaze with a look that he knew full well was capable of intimidating grown men in a prison yard. He was so tired of all of them staring.

A man with a syringe approached, 'It's just a local,' he said quickly, almost nervously, when he saw Marcus looking at it, and Marcus nodded curtly. He felt the cold tingle of antiseptic and the thin sting of the needle, and figured he should be grateful that they weren't cutting into him without anesthetic.

They had him lie on his side on the table. As the medical team began attaching sensors and monitors, and placing restraints to keep his head still, Marcus found himself wishing that he didn't have to be conscious through this procedure, that he didn't have to deal with the strangeness of them poking around inside his head. He looked around for Kate, but couldn't see her. In his line of sight three or four people were grouped around at the foot of the table, talking quietly among themselves, peering at him curiously from time to time.

Suddenly the woman named Allison appeared at his side. 'We're ready to start,' she told him. She hesitated for a few seconds before adding, 'You should know we're one of the few technical teams around that really know our way around Skynet's systems. So, you don't have to worry... we won't, you know, mess anything up in there.' She flashed him an awkward grin, and Marcus wasn't sure whether to be grateful for the hesitant reassurance, or annoyed at being referred to as a Skynet system.

'Okay,' he responded. 'Thanks,' he forced himself to add. Allison looked over his head at someone behind him, and nodded. A few seconds later he felt the sharp point of a scalpel press firmly into his numbed skin before slicing slowly, determinedly, across in a straight line. He felt blood trickle from the incision, was aware of someone swabbing at it, and forced himself to exhale. He'd been holding his breath.

* * *

He felt light, fluttering motions as they poked around at the opening they'd made into his head with small, delicate instruments that reminded him of the dentists' tools. This felt strange but not particularly uncomfortable, and he began to relax, allowing his mind to drift.

And so, he was completely unprepared for what came next, violently and without warning; the sensation was brutal, like a blunt iron poker being driven deep into his brain, and Marcus gasped loudly. Instantly there was an unbearable, almost painful pressure inside his head that made every nerve in his body scream out in protest, making his eyes water, and his heart pound frantically. _Shit, shit, fuck_ – He felt a wave of panic rising inside him and although he'd immediately clamped his mouth shut, he became aware of a soft whimpering noise that had to be coming from him –

'Marcus!' Over the tense voices erupting around him he heard Kate call out, felt her hand grasp his forearm tightly. Then she appeared in his line of sight, bending over him. 'Marcus, it's okay,' she was saying, patting his arm. 'Try to relax. It's okay.'

Not daring to open his mouth, Marcus stared helplessly at her, his eyes wide with distress. He blinked frantically as tears poured down one side of his face, wishing he could ask her what part of this exactly, in her book, was okay.

'It's a probe,' she was saying, 'That's what you just felt them insert. Whatever you feel, don't fight it. Try to relax.'

Marcus caught snippets of the discussion around them '...shouldn't feel anything at all,' a man's voice was saying in obvious surprise.

'He's feeling _all_ of it,' another voice responded sharply, urgently, 'Incredible - look at those readouts...'

Attempting to tune them out, he tried to follow Kate's advice and consciously relax, all the while fighting the instinctive urge to reach up and yank out that thing they'd shoved into his brain. He realized he was clinging to Kate's coat, and unclenched his fingers from the fabric. 'Are you in pain?' she was now asking him quietly, and he was able to choke out a shaky reply. 'Not exactly.' She nodded, seeming to understand. 'Just breathe. Focus on breathing normally,' she advised him in the same undertone, squeezing his hand firmly.

Marcus silently thanked her; Kate's presence at his side was tremendously reassuring. However, Barnes had now come to stand beside her as well, and his presence was anything _but_. In his current state of complete vulnerability, Barnes' considerable bulk looming over him made him feel even more agitated. He tried not to think about it. _Keep fucking breathing_, he reminded himself. Marcus was in no state to take notice of this, but as Barnes watched Marcus' obvious struggle to maintain his composure, a puzzled, unsettled expression crept over his face.

Meanwhile the tech team was buzzing. There was a low whistle. 'This is insane,' a man was muttering nearby . A woman was speaking then, rapidly, excitement in her voice, 'This is like nothing I've ever seen. There may not be pain exactly, but the sensations he's feeling are obviously pretty disturbing,' _Allison, _Marcus thought_._ 'The amount of activity we're picking up shows sensory capabilities in the artificial cortex way beyond what we were expecting... unbelievable.' As a few of the other tech-heads chimed in with their observations, Marcus closed his eyes in frustration. He really didn't give a shit how fascinating this was to them. _Just hurry the hell up, _he implored them silently.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much time had actually passed, but it felt like hours. Everyone present in the room had ended up huddled behind him, watching the procedure, or the images on the monitors showing the insides of his head. It was taking all his energy to keep calm, to keep fighting back the discomfort, and he tried hard to tune out the voices so he wouldn't have to hear them discussing the contents of his head as though he wasn't lying right there, fully conscious.

It was wearing him out, and his left side was beginning to go numb, but Marcus had just reminded himself for the hundredth time to be grateful that, despite the terrible discomfort, at least it didn't _hurt_ per se, when he felt it – a twinge, a shooting pain deep in his head that lasted a fraction of a second. It made him jump, and his vitals must have spiked on the monitors because Kate spoke up immediately. 'What was that?' Then, in a lower voice, closer to his ear. 'Marcus?'

Marcus waited, but felt nothing. 'I'm fine,' he told Kate. A few moments passed and everything seemed to be okay; the procedure continued.

And then it hit him.

A fierce, white-hot bolt of pain ripped through the inside of Marcus' head, jerking a cry of pain out of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, clapping his hand to the back of his head, clawing helplessly at the tools inserted into his head. Exclamations of alarm broke out all around him; through the blinding pain he felt somebody grab his wrist in a viselike grip and force his hand away from his head. When he was able to open his eyes, Marcus registered dimly that his hand had come away covered in blood and that several people were backing away from the table. He heard Kate's voice cut clearly through the noise, 'What the hell's going on?'

His first horrified thought was that they had been right, and that his nightmares had come true; Skynet was back in his head. The pain was similar to what he'd felt when he'd synched into Skynet's central network, only magnified many times over. Panic and blind fear gripped him – what the hell was going on, how could this be happening, was this was why Skynet had let him live? – But, gasping and almost sobbing as he was, he fought it off. _Wait,_ something inside him instructed, _Keep it together._

As it receded a little he realized Kate was bending over him, and he wanted to tell her to back away, to keep her distance, but there was no fear on her face, only concern.

'...hear me? Marcus can you hear my voice?' he saw her mouth moving and became aware of her words.

'Kate,' he spluttered desperately, grabbing her arm in a painfully tight hold, 'What's going on? It hurts like crazy – it fucking _hurts_...' Over the chaos he heard Allison speaking rapidly, a panicked edge in her voice, but he didn't hear her words.

Her voice, and all sound, was drowned out by another tidal wave of pain, this time larger, more crippling than before. It flooded through his entire body like electricity, and he didn't know if he screamed out loud, but he was screaming in his head. He was vaguely aware of hands holding him down, people exchanging frantic words over his head, but every time it began to recede and he tried to focus on his surroundings, a fresh wave slammed into him again, rendering him incoherent, incapable of thought or action. He wanted to beg, to plead for somebody, anybody, to make it stop. But he held on, biting down on it, sweating profusely with the effort, shaking like a junkie in serious withdrawal. Barely conscious of what was going on around him, he couldn't see the pale, concerned faces of Kate, Allison, and the others, as they tried to figure out what had happened, how they could fix it.


	10. Chapter 10

John Silverman looked up in vague surprise as somebody knocked sharply on the door to his small office. The ex-professor had been deep in thought, a million miles away in his head... Or, more specifically, halfway across the country. He had been thinking back to San Francisco. Recently, he'd found his thoughts straying from his work. It was true that everyone was shaken by recent events, and with different factions within the Resistance struggling to find footholds in the suddenly altered landscape, tensions were running high all round. Everything was uncertain.

But for Silverman the turmoil was different, more personal. He returned time and again in his head to those last few months, when the carefully guarded research they'd been working on for decades became more public, gathering greater interest in government and military circles. He remembered the clashes that had taken place then between colleagues as disagreements arose over the way their work was to be utilized; he remembered the intense moral and philosophical debates that had raged during those times, debates that were never really resolved, until suddenly one day, the machines had taken over, putting an abrupt and fiery end to it all... In the years since, as he watched Skynet's expansion with solemn dread, he often thought of his colleagues – most of them dead, or presumed dead – and wondered when one particular piece of ingenious folly would resurface, knowing that when Skynet discovered what they'd started, it would use it in ways they'd never dreamed of. Sooner or later, he told himself ruefully on nights when he couldn't sleep. Sooner or later the buried past would claw its way back into the present.

And now, it had finally happened. Quietly and without warning, he had been confronted by his worst fear, and since then, whatever little peace of mind he'd managed to hold onto had vanished.

So, it was fitting when the young soldier standing in front of his desk now relayed the message that there was an urgent communication for him from the Resistance unit in California under John Connor's command. He was needed there; could he travel immediately?

Grimly, Silverman stood and headed out of the office; it seemed there was a reason Marcus Wright had been on his mind after all.

* * *

Blair locked her hands tighter around her mug of weak, bitter coffee. She was trying to focus on the discussion taking place around the table but her eyes kept straying back to that stain on Kate's sleeve. The large, dark patch on the left forearm was blood – Marcus' blood, the messy imprint left by his fingers as he'd involuntarily grabbed Kate's arm in agony. Every time she looked at it, it made her insides twist to imagine what must have taken place in her absence. She forced herself to take another sip of watery coffee, trying to contain her agitation.

She had returned from her mission exhausted but hoping to hear good news about Marcus; she was looking forward to the long-awaited medical clearance from Kate that would have finally freed him from his near-solitary confinement, permitting him to join the others. She was looking forward to showing him around the base.

Instead, she was horrified to learn what had happened, that things had gone horribly wrong. That Marcus hadn't regained consciousness, and that nobody was really even sure he was going to.

Silverman had been sent for, and he'd arrived within hours. Now, they all sat analyzing the test results, poring over the findings Kate and her team had collected, but Blair couldn't really focus on all of that yet. She was still trying to make sense of what had happened in the first place, trying to deal with the idea that she might lose him all over again...

'...considering, it could have been worse,' Kate was saying now, and Blair, already on edge, immediately felt herself snap. She hadn't spoken a word so far, but couldn't contain her outrage anymore.

'Really, Kate?' She asked, her tone measured but brittle. 'I don't see how it could have.' Kate looked at her silently as Blair continued, 'According to everything I've been told, we've put him through absolute hell, possibly damaged his nervous system permanently. Drugs aren't having any effect since the organic half of his brain seems to have been superseded by responses regulated by the artificial half. We don't have any way of helping him or easing his pain. So tell me, how could it be worse?'

There was silence in the air for a second. Then John spoke up from across the table. 'He could be dead right now, Williams,' he replied grimly, 'That's how.'

Kate glanced down at the papers on the table in front of her, and her gaze fell on her stained sleeve as well. She hadn't had time to change her coat and now, it seemed to bother her; she absently began folding her sleeves up to her elbows. 'That's all I meant Blair,' she said quietly, 'That at least it didn't kill him outright.' She added, a defensive note creeping into her voice, 'Nobody was out to hurt him, you know.'

But Blair looked at Connor. 'We shouldn't have put him through this in the first place.' She whispered, shaking her head. 'We shouldn't have had to question his loyalty, John.'

'Well, what _should_ we have done?' Barnes' deep baritone broke in aggressively from the corner where he sat perched on a table. 'Let him wander free around the base? Because he swore he was on our side? Should we have risked the lives of our own people based on his word Blair?'

Blair shot him a look. 'I happen to know his word actually means something, Barnes,' she returned sharply, 'Which is more than I can say for most men I know. As for risking anyone's life, it's pretty absurd to suggest he was a danger to anyone. I don't need to remind you he saved John's life not once but several times. And he saved mine too, which is more than I can expect from–'

'Enough!' Connor growled. 'Cool it, you two.' He gave Blair a warning look. 'Look, Blair, Marcus knew what we were trying to do. He understood, and he agreed to cooperate.'

'He agreed, and yes he did understand,' Blair said in a tired undertone, 'But let's face it; he was hardly in a position to disagree even if he wanted to.'

John Silverman had been watching in silence, and now he spoke up. 'Blair, I understand your objections. But remember, Marcus _himself_ had no idea what had been done to him until he was injured by that, uh–'

'Landmine,' Blair cut in softly.

'Exactly. Until his metal endoskeleton was literally exposed he believed, just as you did, that he was human. But that is exactly what Marcus was designed for; to integrate an extremely advanced prosthetic endoskeleton so seamlessly with human tissue that it was virtually indistinguishable, especially to the subject himself. And with Marcus, my colleagues achieved that to quite an extent... but then Skynet built on it and improved it tremendously. Judging by these test results, Skynet did a lot of things they couldn't have dreamed of doing, and so, made Marcus the perfect infiltration unit... You see, to him, his body feels human, outside and inside; his nervous system has been designed to replicate all the ordinary sensations and responses. He's all the more susceptible to Skynet because he can't feel any of the mechanical components inside him.'

Blair listened carefully despite herself. She looked around at the others, their tired faces looking even more haggard in the shadows cast by the light over the table. They too, were listening closely, grimly fascinated.

John spoke sharply. 'That's all very interesting Doctor. But it brings me back to the fact that you still haven't told us much about this work of yours to begin with.'

Silverman shifted slightly. 'I know.' He'd told them only that he was part of an elite group of genetic scientists, and that while he hadn't been employed by Cyberdyne he'd had close liaisons with a lot of its leading geneticists, but it was obvious John didn't quite believe him yet. He had made no secret of his reversations regarding Silverman.

'You plan to?'

Silverman paused. 'Like I told Kate. I really would like to talk to Marcus about this first. I didn't get a chance to last time because I was called back before he regained consciousness–'

'And now he might never.' John pointed out flatly.

Blair felt a prickle of impatience. 'Dr Silverman,' she interjected. 'Finish what you were saying about Marcus.' She was beginning to understand what Silverman was getting at. 'Did you mean that, even though he took out the chip, during the time he was in Skynet Central–'

Silverman nodded. 'Skynet obviously rebuilt his damaged tissue, and accessed his memory to gain information,' Silverman continued, nodding, 'So it was a safe assumption that Skynet could also at that point have carried out further modifications. Basically what I'm getting at it that it was prudent to examine him so thoroughly. It's what I would have done.'

'So... _do_ we know exactly what Skynet did to him?' Blair whispered.

'We don't,' Silverman admitted. 'But as I was saying to you all earlier, from what Allison has shared with me,' he nodded at the woman who had been sitting silently by, 'I think we can finally conclude that there is no active link to Skynet inside his brain. Unless Skynet captures Marcus and physically extracts information stored in his head, it has no way of reaching him, and vice versa. The only thing that we know Skynet did for sure is lock us out of his head.'

'Lock us out?' John leaned forward on his elbows. 'Wait, how exactly? That's what you were about to explain –'

'The physical reactions he's experiencing now were brought on by some sort of programming in his head,' Kate said somberly, 'It's like Skynet has built a sort of intruder defense system into his head, isn't that right Dr Silverman?'

'Precisely. When Marcus was able to synch with the network, it's not just Skynet that downloaded the contents of _his_ head. It's a safe bet that Marcus has stored away in his brain a lot of information about Skynet that he's not even consciously aware of, but which could, in theory at least, be accessed by a third party. So to guard itself, Skynet created this system that makes it impossible for Marcus to share the information in his mind, at least willingly. Which,' he added with a tired sigh, 'Brings me to another concern but we'll address that later...'

He trailed off, and there was heavy silence as everyone absorbed the information they'd just heard.

'You see?' Barnes finally spoke, addressing Blair, 'It's like Dr Silverman says. He could have been transmitting everything he heard and saw, or he coulda been a walking time bomb, or _anything_... We had to make sure.'

Blair shook her head slowly, thinking. 'I understand. But _he_ isn't Skynet, Barnes. _He's_ not the enemy. He shouldn't have to suffer like this.'

Connor sat back heavily in his chair, frustration clear on his face. 'Agreed,' he said, 'it's unfortunate. But like Dr Silverman said, we can't do much. Now we just have to wait and see what happens. I get the clear feeling Marcus is a piece of a bigger puzzle here. Isn't that right Doctor?' He fixed Silverman with a thoughtful look.

The older man lowered his eyes, almost guiltily. 'We're all a piece of this puzzle John,' he replied softly. 'You of all people know that.'

* * *

Perched on the hood of an old jeep parked against the main hangar, overlooking the airstrip, Blair tilted her face up to the sky. Twilight had settled in and the sky was streaked with pink and orange light slowly fading into deepening blue. The airstrip was unusually quiet at the moment, and planes stood parked along it as if at rest. In a while the little remaining light in the sky would die out, and blackness would descend. Unless it was raining the nights were usually cloudless, with pinpoints of starlight shining brightly now that there were no lights from the cities to block them out.

Blair found herself thinking back to that night in the desert after the long day or so she'd spent hiking across the barren terrain with a silent stranger at her side. As they'd hiked, she'd observed him carefully. Blair prided herself on having good instincts about people, an important skill, especially now, with the world the way it was. Judgment Day had brought out the worst in a lot of people – greed, selfishness, cowardice, ruthlessness – and she hadn't been kidding when she'd told Marcus he was a rarity, that she didn't meet a lot of good guys lately.

It was clear to her, from the way he'd answered her, that he had a troubled past. She still didn't know what he'd done, or what had happened to him, but that night as she curled against him, as much for much-needed comfort as for warmth, Blair knew they'd both let their guard down a little for the first time; she by physically reaching out, and he by admitting to her that he wasn't a good guy. When she'd pulled back to look into his face as he said that, she'd seen the face of a man carrying a heavy burden. But she'd known her assessment was correct; a man who felt guilt and regret as deeply as Marcus obviously did for whatever transgressions he'd committed, wasn't rotten all the way through.

Now, Blair wished she'd stayed awake longer that night. He'd asked her about second chances as if realizing for the first time that he might've been given one, and she would have given anything to go back to that moment and talk to him more, find out what it was he was so haunted by. The idea of losing Marcus when she'd only just met him that been so painful. But now, to possibly lose him for a second time – after, despite herself, she'd gotten used to him being around – was too agonizing to contemplate.

She was still gazing at the sky when footsteps crunching on the gravelly ground made her look around. Out of the growing shadows approached Barnes. He was carrying a box full of something that made clinking noises, and walking purposefully. But when he saw her, he slowed his pace, seeming to debate with himself before finally coming over to stand beside her.

He set down the box he was carrying on the hood on the jeep with a soft thump, and cleared his throat with a deep rumble. 'Hey,' he mumbled.

Blair glanced at him. 'Hey.'

'What's up?' His tone was casual but he obviously had something on his mind.

'Not much.'

'Birds all on the ground?' He surveyed the aircraft lined up along the airstrip.

'Yeah. Last one came back in about an hour ago.'

'Good.'

She waited for him to speak.

He was visibly uncomfortable. 'So. Look, Blair, I've been meaning to talk to you...' he broke off and scratched his cheek.

She raised her eyebrow just a fraction.

He settled against the jeep, 'Look, I just wanted to say... earlier, I wasn't attacking you in there. I know that you...' he seemed to search for words, 'I know you believe in this guy, whatever he is, and... I thought you were crazy. But I'm starting to see that John sort of trusts him too. And Kate, I _watched_ her, man, I watched her with him, and...' he shook his head incredulously, and despite herself Blair listened intently, curious to know what Barnes had picked up from Kate's interaction with Marcus. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd say Kate's developing kind of a soft spot for him. And I know Kate and John are the last people in the world to be fooled by something like this.'

'Right, but I am?' Blair asked sharply.

'No. The Blair Williams I know wouldn't be fooled by some machine,' Barnes replied seriously. 'That's why I was so pissed off that night when you took off with him. I thought you went crazy.' He looked at her earnestly now, or as earnest as she'd ever seen Barnes look. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'For what?'

He spoke very quietly, without looking at her. 'For almost killing you that night.' Then, thinking, he added heavily, 'It's a miracle you survived. That rocket–'

'It was Marcus. He saw it coming, covered me,' Blair cut in quietly.

Barnes was silent. They spent a few minutes watching the sky in silence, or pretending to. A light breeze rustled Blair's hair.

Barnes finally continued. 'I don't know Blair. I just don't know. I'm beginning to think maybe I was wrong about him. I mean, I thought about that night a lot. When I saw him bringing John outta Skynet Central, for a minute there, I forgot. I forgot what he was...'

'That's cause what he is at the end of the day is a man,' Blair replied. 'And all he's tried to do so far is what's right.'

'Maybe. But d'you remember, after the landmine explosion when we brought him in?'

'Yeah.' She could hardly forget. She'd been beside herself with guilt and confusion, puzzling over and over about how the mine ended up attaching itself to him; about how, just minutes earlier, she'd smirked at his reluctance, telling him the minefield was safe.

'He was in bad shape remember? Dazed, bleeding all over the place – '

'Uhuh.'

'And then Kate opened his shirt, and there it was –'

'I know.'

'We'd never seen anything like it.'

'It was a shock to me too Barnes,' Blair admitted, 'I'd spent two days hiking through the desert with the man. I'd spent all that time with him. He helped me when my plane got shot down. He didn't have to, but he did. And he didn't have to step in and save my life when those assholes attacked me that night, but he did. The last thing I could've imagined was that he was... different. '

Barnes considered this. 'What exactly happened that night anyway?' he finally asked her curiously.

Blair sighed. 'We stopped for the night, at an abandoned racetrack. Marcus went looking for firewood, and I was cleaning up, when these three guys snuck up on me. They were idiots, complete fucking morons, but they were armed and...' she hesitated, 'They wouldn't have stopped at much to get what they wanted y'know?'

Barnes nodded in understanding. 'Yeah.'

'They had me on the ground when he showed up,' she continued softly, staring out into the growing darkness. 'And Marcus went for them like, well, like nothing I've ever seen. Took all three out before I knew it. By the time I got to my feet, and found my gun, it was all over, but he wasn't just about to walk away. I could see that in his face, he was angry, furious, and I was afraid he was going to kill them, or at least the one that was still mouthing off.'

'What'd you do?'

'I shot the sonofabitch myself. In the leg.'

'Good for you,' Barnes said quietly.

Blair looked at him warily. She and Barnes had never exactly seen eye to eye, but there had always been a grudging sense of respect between them. Now, for the first time since Marcus had entered their lives, it seemed that might return.

She continued, 'I knew I could trust him Barnes, it was just a feeling, a gut feeling. Like I told John when he asked me, I saw a man, not a machine. I couldn't just stand by and let John have him killed. Helping him escape was the only right thing to do.'

Barnes exhaled heavily. 'That's another thing,' he told her. 'When John told me Marcus didn't just escape that night by the river, that John let him go, I had to think, well, if John Connor did that, then there's gotta be something I'm missing here.'

Blair looked down at her hands. 'I don't know if he'll pull out of this one Barnes. Or else I'd say you should give him a chance. See for yourself.'

Barnes chewed on this for a while. Then he shrugged. Pushing away from the jeep, he hoisted the box off the hood and onto his hip with a small grunt. 'Hell, you know what I think? Son-of-a-bitch won't let us off the hook this easy. He'll be back.'

* * *

Silverman rubbed his eyes, which were tired and sore. He'd been monitoring Marcus' brain activity almost constantly for an entire day, and he needed a break. Marcus' system had been all over the place, with every physical reaction in the book running riot through his body. But now, it seemed things were beginning to calm down. He seemed to be stabilizing, but Silverman wasn't sure he wanted to say anything to the others just quite yet.

He watched the face of the man who'd signed himself – his dead body anyway – over to Cyberdyne Systems fifteen years ago, and it struck him how he hadn't aged a day. Had Marcus not been executed – and had he survived Judgment Day, of course – he would have been forty-three years old today, the same age Silverman was when it was all happening. Silverman, now close to sixty, and feeling every bit of it, felt a pang of regret. There was a lot he would have done differently if he could go back. Looking at Marcus, he nodded silently to himself. _I bet you would have too._


	11. Chapter 11

He became aware of a throbbing pain in every inch of his body, and groaned quietly. Opening his eyes, he found himself alone in a darkened room, curled up on his side on a narrow cot. For a while there was only the pain, and he struggled to cope with it as he tried to get his bearings.

Then, cautiously, Marcus moved, raising his hand slowly to the back of his head. His fingers tentatively explored the swatch of dressing taped over the area, as he began to recall the last thing he could remember; that terrible sensation filling his head, the sharp smell of antiseptic, bright lights, hushed voices. Then that explosion of agony in his brain... He realized his breathing was labored, his heart pounding and his body clammy, the t shirt he wore soaked through with sweat. An IV line ran into his arm, taped down securely, and there were sensors attached to his body, wires running under his clothing. What the hell had happened to him?

Very slowly, Marcus attempted to sit up. The effort of the movement made his head spin, and closing his eyes, he swore softly under his breath, gripping the side of the cot.

Propped up on one elbow, he was still contemplating his next move when the door swung open, letting in a faint light from the hall. A familiar silhouette appeared framed against the light.

Squinting uncomfortably, Marcus had opened his mouth to speak, to say her name, when Blair clapped a hand to her mouth. 'Marcus!' she gasped. Moving tentatively forward, she crouched by the cot, taking his face in her hands as Marcus blinked slowly, trying to focus past the pain and on her words. 'I don't believe it,' she was saying, relief clear in her voice, 'How are you feeling?'

Marcus looked at her wearily, unable to respond. Groggy as he was, he realized that her surprise and relief clearly meant things hadn't looked good for him for a while there. 'I'm okay,' he finally mumbled, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth.

'Look, hang on,' Blair told him urgently, rising with obvious reluctance, 'I gotta get Kate. Don't move, okay?'

He managed a grunt. As Blair rushed from the room, he slowly, painfully lowered himself back onto the pillow, and closed his eyes as he waited.

* * *

'I'll be damned,' Connor muttered. He and Blair stood back to make room in the cramped space, watching as Kate quickly checked Marcus over. Blair barely registered his words. 'Should I get Silverman?' she asked Kate.

'It's okay,' Kate said over her shoulder, 'He's stabilized enough to be out of immediate danger. Otherwise he wouldn't be conscious right now. '

'Wait. Silverman's here?' Marcus slurred with effort. 'What the hell happened?' He saw them all exchange glances.

Connor responded tersely. 'It's kind of a long story.'

'And we'll have time to fill you in later,' Kate said firmly. 'For now you should just rest.'

But Marcus shook his head. 'No,' he replied, and his tone was decisive even as he struggled to form the words. 'Enough rest. Need to get out of this room.'

Kate chose to ignore this, continuing her examination. 'His nervous system's still haywire,' she muttered to the others, consulting the monitors. 'Are you in a lot of pain?' she asked him, and after a moment's hesitation Marcus nodded mutely. No point playing the hero; he felt like he'd taken on half a dozen T-800s by himself. He realized suddenly that he'd experienced more physical pain in these last two weeks of life as a human-machine hybrid than he'd ever felt in his entire life as an ordinary man. _Well, almost_.

'He looks like shit,' John observed somewhat unnecessarily, and Marcus shot him a surly look. 'Thanks,' he grumbled under his breath, but couldn't muster any real annoyance.

'We did try giving you morphine for the pain,' Kate was telling him now, 'But it didn't seem to have any effect. Do you remember the last thing that happened?'

Marcus paused. 'Just that pain – it was blinding... and voices.' He licked his dry lips. 'And that it wouldn't stop. Then I must've passed out.'

'You didn't actually,' Kate told him. 'It went on for a long time. We had to sedate you eventually.'

'What about now,' Blair broke in, watching the pinched expression on Marcus' face anxiously. 'If he's in pain why can't you try the morphine again?'

'We could, but I don't want to risk it.' Kate told her.

'But it's just morphine...' Blair began.

'It might still trigger something else,' John interjected.

Kate nodded. 'His system's reacting to things in ways we don't understand-'

'But you said that he's stabilizing right?' Blair persisted. 'I thought that might mean–'

'She has a point,' John cut in, turning to Kate. 'Silverman said if he began to normalize, that'd mean the artificial cortex would cease to control all his brain function...'

'And in theory medication would start taking effect again,' Blair finished, nodding.

'I know, but I'm not going to risk a relapse for a shot of morphine –' Kate began to retort, when Marcus, silently watching this exchange in increasing frustration, snapped.

'_Hey!_' He broke in loudly. They all turned to look at him. 'I'm right here,' he continued angrily. 'Somebody want to tell _me_ what the hell happened?' As soon as he raised his voice though, he regretted it; the throbbing pain at his temples intensified instantly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut now, but the pain deepened, rolling through him in waves. He tensed, waiting, willing himself to ride it out.

The three of them looked at him silently for a while. Then Kate bent over him, and touched his forehead. Her fingers were surprisingly gentle, though her tone was brisk when she asked him, 'Is it very bad?'

He opened his eyes, looking at her helplessly. 'Pretty bad,' he admitted. 'But... nothing like before. That was just - I've never felt anything like that in my life.' He paused; it was beginning to subside. 'Kate, what happened back there?'

Sighing, Kate rubbed a hand unconsciously over her belly. She gave the other two a look. 'Might as well tell him now,' she said, and when there was silence, she sat slowly on the cot beside him.

'During the procedure, we triggered something completely unexpected... a sort of automatic response,' she began, looking determinedly at Marcus. 'We think Skynet has built in a sort of intruder alert in your head. Since the artificial part of your brain is essentially an extremely advanced computer, it's possible, in theory at least, to hack into it. So this system was probably put in place to keep anyone from tapping into whatever information is stored inside your head.' She looked at John before continuing.

'The response, obviously, translates into excruciating pain to begin with, and a range of secondary symptoms that mimic physical responses an ordinary person would suffer if, for example, they were ill...'

Marcus was listening warily. 'Like what?' he asked now in a hoarse whisper.

'Well, your body temperature was dangerously high for a while, which had the same effect as a high fever would on anyone else. Your blood pressure was off the charts too. Things like that.' Kate glanced again at John, almost guiltily. 'We're not sure if these secondary reactions are a part of Skynet's programming, or if they're just a side effect of the disturbance we caused in your artificial cortex. We're still trying to figure it out... But whatever it is, one thing is for sure. The severity of your reaction to the probe means Skynet has ensured that you can't cooperate with such a procedure even if you want to,' she finished quietly.

John spoke up. 'Luckily, Allison and the team retracted their probes very quickly. If they hadn't, it would probably just have continued, getting worse and worse.'

Slowly, Marcus asked, 'And then what would have happened?' He already knew the answer.

'It would have killed you,' John replied flatly. 'That much is clear. Every system in your body would have pushed itself past its physical limits, and you would've died.'

Marcus stared at them, dumbfounded. 'So basically,' he struggled to understand, 'Skynet built itself a... a kill-switch in my head? In case it were compromised?'

Husband and wife exchanged a look. 'Basically.' John confirmed.

Marcus closed his eyes briefly, tasting bitterness in the back of his throat. Even after he'd done whatever he could to sever his ties with Skynet, it retained its hold on him in ways beyond his control. 'Fantastic,' he muttered under his breath.

Blair moved closer now, and put a hand on his arm. She seemed to understand immediately what he was thinking. 'It doesn't mean that Skynet has control over you Marcus, not like you think... not like it did before.'

'She's right,' Kate affirmed, 'This is a part of the way your brain is wired to work, but only in the event that someone tries to tamper with it. If left alone, it shouldn't have any effect on your normal functioning. The most important thing is, there isn't any active link left between you and Skynet. The tests showed that conclusively.'

Marcus wanted to feel angry, wanted to tell her that should have hardly come as a surprise, but the effort didn't seem worth it. He felt incredibly weary. Not for the first time, he wished he could turn back the clock; he'd been so desperate for escape from his own existence fifteen years ago that he'd welcomed death. Now he felt trapped in a limbo where he was not only forced to deal with the constant emotional upheavals of his situation, but also seemed destined to suffer new and strange kinds of physical torment. Talk about atonement.

And, it didn't make sense; if he _was_ a machine after all, then goddammit, what kind of machine felt pain? It was almost as if, he realized, Skynet was demonstrating its appreciation of irony; almost as if it were telling him - Marcus Wright, Skynet infiltration prototype, to whom the human condition no longer applied - _You believe you're still a man? Then feel it. Feel every last bit of agony and pain a man can feel..._

'I want to get up.' He was suddenly restless, frustrated. He had to break that cycle of thought before it took hold of him.

'I don't think that's a good idea,' Kate cautioned.

'I don't care,' he replied, grimacing with effort as he struggled to pull himself upright.

'Marcus, I mean it.' Kate continued, 'We don't know a whole lot about your condition right now. Anything could happen.'

Grunting under his breath, Marcus sat up and swung his legs off the cot. 'See,' he told Kate, trying not to pant too obviously. 'I'm fine.' He felt like hell. But the cool concrete under his bare feet felt good.

There was silence for a minute as Blair and the Connors looked at him critically, appraisingly. 'Well,' Connor began, 'Maybe it's not a bad idea Kate. Let him get up if he can.'

But as if on cue, Marcus felt a queasy fluttering begin in the pit of his stomach... _Great._ He ignored it, hoping to will it away; mentioning it to Kate was as good as condemning himself to at least another whole day in bed, he thought ruefully.

Kate had just begun to say something, when at that exact moment, Marcus felt the queasiness erupt into a debilitating wave of nausea. He pressed a hand to his mouth, nearly choking in his effort to hold it back, and he was just barely able to contain it long enough till Blair, reacting quickly, handed him a pan from a nearby cart. Doubling over, Marcus vomited violently into it as the others looked on in alarm.

'Shit,' John muttered.

'This is exactly what I meant,' Kate said reproachfully as Blair sank onto the cot beside Marcus, tentatively patting his back. With no food in his system, Marcus vomited what seemed to be endless amounts of water and bile, heaving so forcefully he could barely stay upright, until there was nothing left inside him to bring up, and he was left spitting out stringy mucus, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. Blair put her arm around his shoulders, and he leaned against her, trying to catch his breath. Kate took a small handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to him. 'You see?' she said wearily, 'You need rest. There's no telling what else you're going to go through as the effects recede.'

But Marcus shook his head. 'I don't want to rest,' he whispered agitatedly. 'I can't lie here anymore.'

There was a pause.

'Seriously,' he continued, directing his appeal to Connor now, 'I'll lose my mind if I have to stay locked up in here.'

'But you're not –' Blair began.

He interrupted her quickly. 'I'll be fine. I feel better already,' he lied.

Connor looked thoughtfully at his wife. 'What do you think?' With the memory of his own frustration during his recent recovery fresh in his mind, he could sympathize.

'There's no telling what could happen,' Kate said, shaking her head. 'He could have another seizure, another attack...'

'But he might have a point,' Blair reasoned. 'Maybe it would do him good to get up, walk around a bit.'

Kate and John looked at each other and Kate shrugged. 'Do you feel able to walk around?' she asked dubiously.

'Yeah, sure,' Marcus said quickly.

Kate looked at Marcus for a long time. Pursing her lips, she finally relented. 'It's a risk. But if someone keeps an eye on him, I suppose we can try it...'

Blair spoke up quietly, 'I'll stay with him.'

Kate shook her head, her disapproval obvious. Reluctantly, she began removing the sensors, lifting his t-shirt to detach the small patches. As she stopped the IV and slid the needle out of his arm she automatically reached for a band-aid, and Marcus shook his head. 'Don't waste your stuff,' he said quietly. He was thinking of Star, and her little pouch full of band-aids. For a second, Kate looked at him oddly. Then she put the band-aid back.

She got to her feet carefully. 'I'm going to find Silverman. Keep me posted, and tell me if there's any change in his condition,' she told Blair, then turned to Marcus sternly. 'Don't venture too far. And don't do anything too taxing. At the first sign of any symptoms you get your ass back in here. Okay?'

'Okay,' Marcus replied wearily. 'I will.' He glanced down at himself, drew the back of his hand across his mouth again. He was drenched in sweat, and now his t-shirt was spattered with vomit. He felt filthy. 'Anyway, all I want to do is take a shower.'

* * *

Some time later, as he slowly followed Blair a short way down the dingy hallway, Marcus was aware of every single muscle in his body aching – although, he reminded himself with the now-familiar sinking feeling, the muscles he could feel were technically no longer there. He couldn't help but wonder at the strange technology that enabled him to feel so human even while his body had been so drastically altered. He was also taken aback by just how weak he felt. It had taken him several minutes to stand up and take a few steps, a fact that was ludicrous given that his powerful mechanical endoskeleton could support his body weight many times over. He remembered the ease with which he'd hoisted the large iron grate in the ventilation shaft over his head. With the way he felt right now, he could hardly believe he'd been capable of that...

'Connor didn't think it was a good idea for you to go wandering off into the main showers near the barracks,' Blair explained over her shoulder as she led him through a room lined with several cots. 'Too far. Plus, too many people.' There were a few rickety screens placed between the beds.

'What's this?' He looked around at the room, 'A makeshift ward or something?'

'Yep.' Blair shot him a grim look. 'When things get ugly out there this is one of the rooms that gets pretty cramped.' She wove through the beds to a tiled shower area in the corner. 'Used to be a locker room for the medical staff before we ran out of space for beds. Lucky for you, you have the place to yourself,' she told him wryly, gesturing at the shower, adding, 'There should be some hot water. Get cleaned up... I'll go find you something to wear.'

Unsteadily, Marcus moved over to the shower area. The greenish tiles were slick and grimy, and the sole fluorescent tube in the ceiling flickered sporadically, barely lighting the gloomy, low-ceilinged space adequately. But when he turned on the closest tap, the rusty showerhead gurgled and sprang to life. He began pulling his t-shirt off, anxious to get under the shower; all he wanted was to stand under the water and feel it wash him clean. He thought back to standing naked under the rain that night, how he'd stood shivering with his eyes closed, bending over to spit out the gunk in his mouth, until the last of the slimy shit washed off him. Only then had he turned to the dead man, to retrieve his clothes.

But as he tossed his shirt to the floor now, another wave of dizziness hit him, and he staggered slightly as the room spun. Blair, who was turning to leave, whirled and grabbed him by the shoulders.

'You okay?' she asked urgently.

Marcus held on to her as the wooziness swept through him, his head dropping forward so their foreheads were almost touching. Another spasm of shooting pain tore through his head again, and for a moment he was afraid the whole cycle was about to start off again, but it subsided. 'Yeah,' he said weakly. Recovering himself, he raised his head. 'Yeah, I'm fine,' he repeated, more firmly this time.

Concern furrowed Blair's brow. 'You're obviously not. Maybe Kate was right,' she murmured as she looked searchingly at him. 'Maybe I should stay...' she added.

She said this in all earnestness, but despite his state – or maybe because of it – this last statement struck Marcus as absurdly amusing. He felt a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Repressing it, he looked her straight in the eye. 'And watch me shower?' He finished solemnly.

For a split second Blair stared at him openmouthed, and even in the dim light he could swear she flushed bright red. 'That's... uh, not exactly what I meant, Marcus,' she replied after a beat, giving him a look that was both reproachful and amused. 'But I think you know that.'

He shrugged, his eyes now twinkling mischievously in his tired face. 'Kate _did_ say that someone had to keep an eye on me,' he mused slowly, pokerfaced.

Blair pressed her lips together, clearly holding back a smile of her own now. 'She did,' she returned archly 'But on second thought, I'm pretty sure she was overreacting.' Her tone was dry but her eyes bright.

There was a charged silence as they looked at each other, as if surprised by this unexpected moment of levity. Then Blair gave his arm a gentle squeeze before releasing her grip on him as she turned away, almost abruptly. 'I'm going to find you some clothes,' she said again, a deliberately casual note in her voice.

As he watched her leave, Marcus stood rooted to the spot for a moment. It had been a harmless joke, and they'd both known it. But the touch of her hands on his skin, innocent as it had been, lingered, and he caught himself thinking back to that night at the abandoned track, and the sight of her bare back as she stood in the rain. He remembered the jolt that had run through his body as he'd turned from the car to see her topless; how, when she'd seen him looking at her, instead of turning away she'd faced him silently, hands covering her breasts. Suddenly his heart was pounding, as it had that night as they stared at each other openly through the rain for a moment, and through all his pain and exhaustion he felt a powerful stirring of arousal deep in his gut.

Marcus clenched his jaw and shook himself mentally. That had been _then_. Before everything. Before either of them had known what he really was. When he was just a man and she was just a woman, and a spark passing between them was just nature asserting itself. Things were different now. Despite the obvious chemistry between them, Marcus decided he couldn't possibly assume anything – _Although_, he argued with himself as he stepped unsteadily out of his pajamas and under the rushing water, _there was that look in her eyes, for just a second_...

Then the hot water cascading over his aching body overwhelmed his senses, obliterating all further thought, even thoughts of Blair. And placing his palm against the tile to brace himself, Marcus closed his eyes as he had in the rain.

* * *

Blair fingered the frayed collar of the worn grey t-shirt Dixon had given her. He was about the same size as Marcus, though taller, and in his usual good-natured way he'd been quick to dig out an old, clean shirt he said he didn't need any more. Which Blair knew was a lie; few of them had possessions to spare these days.

She now stood in her room, and putting down the neatly folded borrowed clothes she'd collected, she paused for a moment in front of the wardrobe. She knew she should hurry back. She didn't want to leave Marcus on his own too long; for a second there she'd been sure he was about to collapse. But that little exchange by the shower had unsettled her. She was doing her best to hide her growing attraction to Marcus, but he'd struck a nerve within her – albeit jokingly.

Blair reached into her wardrobe. Hanging among her own threadbare clothes was a long grey trench coat. She'd impulsively decided to keep it the night she helped him escape, half-certain she'd never see him again. She pulled it toward herself now and inhaled; it still carried a heavy, smoky scent which made her think of him, and of the night of the escape. She remembered clearly the sounds; the bursts of gunfire around them, the whistle of flares and rockets in the still night, the cacophony of voices from all directions, relentless in their pursuit of their prey. For all her combat experience, Blair had never been on that side – it had always been them against the machines, and for days afterward, she was unable to shake the feeling of being hunted...

It had taken a lot for her to make that decision to help Marcus, and yet it had taken surprisingly little. As she'd told Barnes, it had been clear that it was the right thing to do. But she wouldn't have done it for just anyone. She wouldn't have done it if she hadn't felt a certain something when she looked at Marcus.

When it came to relationships, Blair had never been one to worry much about consequences, and since Judgment Day, more and more people would have agreed; in a life where there was no surety anymore it was important to make the most of the here and now. You were here today, but you could be dead tomorrow. There was little point in thinking of an abstract future, and the possibility of long-term commitment was absurd. Might as well enjoy what you could, when you could.

But could she apply this theory to Marcus? She knew that when she looked at him, she saw a man – a man she liked, and was attracted to. The reality of what had happened to him, what lay under his skin didn't bother her as much as it should have. When he was in front of her it seemed a distant fact, a mere detail. And the attraction wasn't one-sided, she knew. Could she turn a blind eye to the reality of the situation and pursue it? Or would the consequences be disastrous for them both?

_What the hell are you doing? _Closing her eyes Blair leaned her head briefly against the wardrobe door. Then she shook herself, and picked up the folded clothes. She left the trench coat where it was. For now.

* * *

_John Silverman looks exactly like his name sounds_. That was Marcus' first impression of the man who had saved his life by cutting up his heart. Tall, angular and pale, Silverman had a long face with sharply defined features; straight nose, pointed chin, high forehead. His eyes were a pale icy blue, and surrounded by crinkled skin. He had a thick shock of longish white hair and appeared to be in his late fifties.

Concluding his examination of a freshly showered Marcus, Silverman confirmed, as Kate had already stated, that his vitals had stabilized to quite an extent, and his brain activity, though still exhibiting spurts of abnormal behavior, had for the most seemed to normalize. Silverman was impressed by the fact that the process initiated by Skynet, the 'kill-switch' as Marcus had called it, had the ability to reverse itself.

'It makes sense now that I think about it,' he told them all seriously, as they sat around the same table as before. 'I mean, this is just my theory, but it fits; Marcus is unique, the only one of his kind as far as we know, and it makes sense that Skynet wouldn't terminate him altogether unless absolutely critical. Supposing for example, he was captured by the Resistance and they tried to do exactly what we did. Skynet may have planned the system so that it was possible to, well, 'reuse' him, so to speak.'

At this, Marcus, staring resolutely at the tabletop, decided he didn't care for Silverman much.

Silverman continued. 'I think that since, thanks to the quick thinking of your tech team, the procedure was immediately halted, and the memory centers of his machine cortex weren't actually compromised, what we saw happen to Marcus was just a taste... sort of a warning maybe.'

At this, even Barnes raised his eyebrows, 'Hell of a warning,' he muttered, adjusting his cap.

'I'll say,' Kate agreed quietly.

Glancing around at his audience, Marcus ran a hand over his head. His hair was still slightly damp. 'I'm in no hurry to do that again,' he mumbled in agreement.

Now Connor spoke up for the first time since they'd convened around the table. 'Now that we've established all of that,' he said abruptly, 'Dr Silverman, you had things you wanted to talk to Marcus about. Now's the time wouldn't you say?' His eyes were steely as he watched Silverman for a reaction.

Marcus looked from Connor to Silverman, mildly puzzled. This was his first time meeting the man. Other than that what little Kate had initially told him about Silverman's background he knew nothing about the doctor. What could Silverman have to say to him that they hadn't already discussed?

'What's he talking about?' he asked Silverman curiously. He was impatient; although he felt better after cleaning up, the pain persisted, and he wanted to get away from the doctors and the constant observation, out of the close, dank rooms he'd been confined to for so long.

Silverman paused for a moment, looking at Connor carefully. Then he seemed to relent. 'I suppose it is.'

Marcus frowned. 'Now's the time for what?' he repeated slowly.

Silverman exhaled noisily, and settled back in his chair. 'Marcus. I know you've been told of how I flew in with my crew when John was critically injured. What you may not know is that my team and I did not make that journey solely for John. Although,' And here he glanced momentarily at Connor, who sat with his arms grimly folded, 'John's reputation, of course, precedes him. Even in those circles where people tend not to believe in... prophecies. And I wanted to help. Still, it wasn't primarily for John that I came. It was to see for myself whether the story I'd heard was true.'

'What story?' Something prickled at Marcus now, and he shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the direction Silverman was going in. He added, almost defensively, 'I did figure you had to have some stake in keeping me alive.' He did not mention that Kate had been the one to voice this opinion initially.

Silverman continued deliberately, slowly, as if preparing for some sort of reaction. 'According to a few highly guarded sources, word was that members of this unit had come across a new kind of machine, one never seen before. A hybrid, a machine with organs and living tissue.'

Marcus stiffened. He had decided he hated the term hybrid.

'You see, I'd been on the lookout for news of this kind for a very long time. And when I heard this piece of intel, I listened very carefully indeed.' When Marcus opened his mouth to speak, Silverman raised his hand, signaling him to keep silent. 'You might understand my interest a little more,' he added 'if you consider that I have spent most of my life working on the kind of technology that enables you to be alive right now. Along with a select group of scientists, I worked on advanced cybernetics for over twenty years.'

'Cybernetics, huh?' Marcus said bitterly. Skynet's words reverberated hollowly in his head: _Infiltration prototype. Advanced Cyberdyne's work. _'Yeah, I already know this. I figured that's why you wanted to keep me alive. So, what, you think you're going to, you know, study me now?' An inexplicable slow burn had started in his chest as Silverman spoke. Marcus wanted him to hurry up and get to the bottom of it all, and the older man's slow, measured diction was all the more infuriating for that reason.

Silverman simply shrugged. 'Well, obviously I would love a chance to do just that. Kate has shared with me the details of the testing that they've already carried out, but I would welcome the opportunity to examine you from my particular perspective, especially with regard to the changes Skynet has made. But no, that's not why I wanted to keep you alive –'

'Why then?' Marcus cut in, almost fearfully, his anger now dissolving into a murky sense of dread. He didn't want to hear all this, wanted to get up and walk away. A little while ago, standing under the shower he'd felt almost normal again. Just for five minutes he'd been able to push away everything he was trying to deal with and focus only on the welcome sensation of clean, hot water beating down on his body. As much as it reminded him of countless showers at Longview, the familiar comfort of the water had reassured him, reminding him that some things still felt the same, even in this alien and unsettling reality. With Silverman's words – and apparently a new twist in the story – now crowding in on him, that temporary sense of security vanished, and he felt completely unmoored again.

There was dead silence from all the others in the room so far as they watched the exchange between Marcus and Silverman.

'The reason I wanted to keep you alive is simple, Marcus. You are a unique and, if I may say so, fairly incredible achievement. You sitting here right now is a testament to the brilliance of my colleagues, of the work they were able to do. I came not to save John but to save you, if indeed you were _you. _Because the minute I heard about this mysterious hybrid, I knew instantly that he had to be Marcus Wright.'

'How did you know me?' Marcus demanded in a stunned whisper.

'I knew _of_ you,' Silverman clarified. 'I'd never seen you myself but I knew quite a bit about you, thanks to an old friend. A colleague. Someone who I think would be very happy to know that you were alive today.'

Marcus felt himself go cold. For a moment he sat frozen. 'Who?' he hissed, although he already knew the answer.

'You know who I'm talking about Marcus,' Silverman said calmly, almost gently. 'Serena Kogan, of course.'


	12. Chapter 12

Marcus slammed his fist down violently on the table, the harsh sound resounding in the tense silence of the room like a gunshot. Kate jumped, and Blair put a hand on her arm.

There was an almost agonized look of disbelief on Marcus' face. 'Stop toying with me,' he spat out, glaring fiercely at Silverman. 'What the hell is this all about? Just tell me.'

'I am – I will, if you'll just hear me out,' Silverman was saying in the same measured tones. 'Serena was a very dear friend of mine. And we were colleagues once, a long time ago.' Pausing, he added, 'In another world,' as though speaking to himself.

Marcus was breathing heavily. 'I'm only going to say this the one time,' he said in a dangerously low voice, 'If you knew that bitch, then you know what she did to me.' He leaned forward slowly, threateningly. 'And if you had in any part in it, you're better off getting the hell away from me right now.'

Barnes instinctively began to rise, but John held up a finger silently. He was watching Silverman, who was unfazed by Marcus' words. He'd clearly expected this sort of reaction.

'Marcus, wait. Hear me out,' he insisted gently. 'That's exactly why I want to talk to you. When I heard the whispers, I knew it had to be _you..._ Marcus Wright - _Serena's_ Marcus. If I could, I had to see you for myself... talk to you. I had to know what had been done to you. Because I knew that, if Skynet had used you the way I imagined it would, I had to explain – to clear her name more than anything. She would have wanted me to.'

Silverman suddenly glanced around at the others, as if just remembering their presence. Then he refocused his gaze on Marcus, continuing.

'When I learned what had happened to John it was the perfect opportunity, so I came, but I was almost too late. When I realized what you were about to do... well, I had to try and save you. Maybe...' He lowered his head in regret, 'Maybe it was a foolish thing to do. God knows I've complicated matters. But you were the last link left to Serena's life's work. To _her. _For so many years after she died I thought how we hadn't just lost her, we'd lost her work too; you were gone for good, and so was most of her research. And when you finally resurfaced... Well. I couldn't just stand by and watch them cut out your heart. I couldn't let all of Serena's hard work go to waste.'

Marcus listened, paralyzed. Silverman's words were too overwhelming to process. A great wave of helpless disbelief washed over him as he felt the dizzying sense of his past and his bizarre present collide in a whirlpool of confusion and questions. He felt physically dizzy, and the room seemed to swim before his eyes. He sat back in his chair, deflated.

Encouraged by his silence Silverman continued. 'Serena was a visionary Marcus, she was brilliant. The best in her field. The work she did advanced the field of cybernetics by decades... She wasn't some mad scientist. And her intention was not to turn you into some sort of machine to be controlled. Not by Skynet or by anyone. On the contrary. She was on... somewhat of a humanitarian mission.'

At this, Marcus let out a hollow laugh. 'Humanitarian mission, huh. That's a good one.'

Silverman shook his head, finally showing signs of agitation. He leaned forward now in his attempt to explain. 'Try and understand Marcus. She may not have had a chance to tell you this, but the reason she was working on this technology was to _help_ people. She was trying to find a way to save lives, to give a second chance to those who conventional medicine could no longer help; people whose bodies had been damaged beyond repair by disease or injury. People who were condemned to death, or a fate worse than death. She saw a way to improve upon our frail human shells, to make them stronger, more capable of enduring injury and sickness.' Silverman's voice was almost a whispered plea. 'And she pulled it off. Finally, with you, she did it. You are her greatest achievement. Maybe the single greatest achievement in medical science in the past thirty years.'

Marcus sat unmoving, thinking. Serena's face swam in front of him now, not the hard face with the cold eyes he remembered from Skynet, but the frail, hopeless face of the dying woman who'd visited him in his cell, her eyes sunken and her skin ashy. _I'm not worried about myself,_ she'd said. _I'm worried about the future of the human race._ Some future it turned out to be. She'd been right to worry.

'I asked her that,' he whispered finally, to no one in particular. Then he clarified, looking sharply at Silverman, 'I asked her if she thought I was going to cure her, if that's why she wanted me to sign up.' He shook his head at the memory.

'Well, I'm here telling you it wasn't like that. It wasn't about her at all. Serena had been working on this research for years. Practically her whole life. You don't just perfect that kind of science in a few years, you know.' Silverman sighed heavily. 'It was just one of those cruel ironies of life that the cancer struck, especially when she was so close to finishing her work. She died before the project could be completed,' he added, falling silent for a while.

Around the table, the others traded furtive looks. This unfolding exchange between Silverman and Marcus held them all riveted, though the two men themselves seemed largely oblivious of their presence. Blair, Kate, Barnes and John waited for what was to come next, none of them quite wanting to break the heavy silence. There was a clear unspoken sense among them that they were spectators only at this point; this thing, whatever it was, playing out between Marcus and Silverman, was obviously long overdue, part of Marcus' complicated and enigmatic past that was only just beginning to unravel, and there were clear emotional burdens on the part of both men that none of the others really wanted to intrude upon. With the silence stretching out between them, they both sat staring at nothing, Marcus looking as if a tremendous weight were bearing down on him. Silverman suddenly looked frail, much older than his years.

Finally Silverman seemed to shake himself. 'Look, Marcus,' he continued, his tone brightening slightly. 'I know this has been hard for you. But if you think about it, you have no reason to take any of this so negatively.' He leaned forward, speaking more rapidly now, almost eagerly.

'This is all actually quite exciting. After all, you are here, _alive_, fifteen years after your death. Isn't that in itself something to marvel at? And while your body's been altered massively, it is still your body; I mean if you didn't know what you know now, would you ever imagine anything inside was different? If you look at yourself in the mirror, can you possibly deny that it is _your_ face looking back? The same as it has always been?'

He paused to gather his thoughts. 'Internally everything is different, but outwardly your body still functions in many of the same ways it did. In fact, it has been _improved_. That's the beauty of it all. You see? That's how I look at it. That's how the world would have come to look at Serena's technological advances if given a chance; as an _upgrade_.' He leaned heavily on his elbows now, his voice animated again, a spark becoming evident in his eyes.

'After all, it's all very well to play around with flesh and bone, anybody can master that given time and technology… but the most remarkable thing of all is the mind. And most incredibly, what Serena managed to do is keep your mind intact; the subject's mind, I mean. I don't have to tell you Marcus, who knows better than you that _this is_ _you. _Your personality, your thoughts, your feelings, memories... it's all intact, all preserved and brought back, so much so that you yourself had no idea of what had happened, or that anything had been altered... In fact, it's amazing, now that I'm talking to you, you're exactly like Serena described–'

'Intact?' Marcus broke in suddenly, his tone dangerously dull. 'You call this intact?'

Silverman paused, as if realizing he may have overstepped a mark. 'Well, in a manner of speaking–'

But his words had set something off inside Marcus; there'd been a violent pressure building up inside his chest and suddenly, he felt like a valve somewhere had ruptured. 'Do you have any idea,' he choked out slowly, struggling to maintain his composure, 'What I have been through? Do you have any idea what it's been like for me? Learning what I've been turned into, what's been done to me?' He was aware of a low ringing sound in his ears that was growing louder.

Silverman shifted uncomfortably. 'Ah, well. I do realize it's diff–'

'You don't realize anything!' Marcus yelled, startling everyone. 'You don't realize a goddamned thing, and neither did she. Do I think I _wanted_ this?' he demanded in disbelief.

Into the deafening silence, Silverman finally replied quietly. 'I can understand… I suppose you had no idea. But Marcus. You did sign the form...'

'I signed that form,' Marcus told him through gritted teeth, 'Because she kept showing up to pester me about it. And the last time she came was an hour before – do you hear me – an _hour_ before.' He pushed his chair back and was now standing over the table across from Silverman, standing over them all, trembling with rage and indignation. 'I was about to die. Do you think I gave a shit what she did with my corpse? Do you think I imagined she would ever actually do _this?' _

In his sudden outburst of rage, Marcus had slipped. He'd forgotten that the others knew nothing yet about the circumstances of his death or the events that had led up to it. He hadn't actively tried to hide these details of his past, but he had made no effort to divulge his secrets either. Everyone had been too caught up in the many conundrums of the present so far to actually question him about his past, though Connor had gotten close once or twice. As chance would have it, they'd always been interrupted… Either way, he couldn't seem to stop himself now.

'I did what I did, okay?' he continued, his face twisted in pain. 'I killed those men,' he confessed, his voice catching. Saying it out loud for the first time he was dimly aware that they knew what he was now; a criminal, a murderer. Connor, Kate... and Blair. _'Do you think people deserve a second chance?' He had asked her. _He could never take that knowledge back.

His voice shook slightly but he continued, speaking slowly, deliberately. 'I killed those cops. Two families lost husbands, fathers. And I lost my brother. How do you think it felt? Do you think I wanted to live with that for the rest of my life in a six by six cage?' He was fighting tears now.

'There was a reason I never tried to appeal my conviction, for fuck's sake! I didn't want her second chances, her offers at redemption, I didn't want _anything_, I just wanted to fucking _die_!' As he shouted these last words, Marcus was aware that he'd wanted desperately to say all this to Serena, not Silverman. He wished she were in front of him so that he could scream at her, shake her. Who the hell was she to toy with life and death, to play God? And why did she have to pick him? Why couldn't she just have left him to die in peace, to rot in the ground like he should have?

His shoulders sagged under the weight of all his pent-up grief. 'And I couldn't even have that,' he finished in a barely audible whisper.

The air in the room seemed frozen. Nobody moved a muscle. For a few moments Marcus stood motionless, unseeing. He didn't look at anyone, not Silverman, who had seemed to physically shrink from his words, or at the others, varying degrees of shock, dismay and understanding spreading over their faces. At that moment, as far as he was concerned they didn't exist. Like he shouldn't have existed. Not like this.

Suddenly Marcus couldn't breathe. Turning blindly away, he shoved past the chairs crowding the small room, and jerked open the door. He had no idea where he was going, except that it was away from all of them. Nobody tried to stop him.


	13. Chapter 13

**2003**

It was Thursday, and a particularly sunny May afternoon, and Serena Kogan was running late. As she walked breathlessly down the prison halls, her earlier phone call to the warden replayed itself in her mind. 'Please, I know it's very late – yes I _know_ it's not procedure… but please understand – if there's a chance, just a _tiny_ chance he might change his mind… _Please_.' Grudgingly, the warden had agreed.

Although she wasn't exactly feeling a hundred percent lately – her oncologist had warned her to take things easy – Serena had insisted on making the trip herself. Sending a member of her team just wouldn't do; he wouldn't talk to them.

From the airport she'd driven faster than she should have, and at the main intersection opposite the prison she was so deep in thought she'd nearly run a red light. The tedious procedure of signing in seemed to take forever and she wanted to shake the lethargic guards out of their stupor. But, racing the clock, she had made it in the end, even if just barely. He was quick to remind her of this fact; she'd shuddered inwardly at his morbidly flippant response to her ill-considered greeting. _Ask me in an hour_.

Exactly an hour later he was dead.

She later thought back to her first glimpse of him sitting handcuffed on the edge of his bunk that last afternoon. While she'd been flooded with relief to see that he was still there, still alive, in the same instant her heart had gone out to him. There could scarcely be a more pitiful sight, she reflected, than a man waiting patiently for his own death.

In the last year or so Serena had met a lot of death row inmates in her effort to procure donors – the least pleasant part of her job – but Marcus Wright had struck a chord with her somehow. She had met him shortly after his sentencing, and was aware that it was strange, to say the least, that she should feel this way. After all, he was no innocent; he'd been duly tried and convicted according to law. And she herself was no sentimentalist. Serena normally had no trouble remaining detached, professional. It wasn't like her to feel so strongly for a candidate she was trying to sign up. But she had to concede that, as terrible as his crime may have been, there were things about him that made her feel for Marcus where she'd been unmoved by others.

For one thing, there was his remorse. On the surface, Marcus' demeanor was textbook. Like so many others in his situation, he initially came across as hardened and numb. There was the typical expressionless face, the measured, monosyllabic responses, the glazed, deadened eyes. But as their interviews progressed, something seemed to give. He'd begun speaking of the boy – his brother – to the obvious surprise of both of them, and she had found herself unable to tear her gaze from his haunted eyes. Regret seeped out of him like something tangible, viscous, and when he spoke of the other two dead men it was plain to see, Serena realized, that he was sorry for what he'd done. But that realization was tragic, because there was no point in him being sorry. There was no point in anything he said or did now. It was all much too late.

The fact that he was so young was not lost on her either. His youth and his wasted life was sad on its own, but Serena was more focused on purely practical terms; at three months shy of twenty-eight years old that May, he was by far the youngest candidate on her list. The next contender was forty-three, a tall, heavy-set bear of a man with a violent past record, convicted of the brutal rape and homicide of a young local girl. Not only was he considerably overweight, he also had a chain-smoking habit that had all but destroyed his lungs and his heart. Hardly ideal. On the other hand Marcus _was_ the ideal candidate, both in terms of his age, and medically. Studying his records she found that Marcus was ridiculously healthy. Inexplicably, he didn't smoke or do drugs, and just as surprisingly, the condition of his liver showed that he had to be a moderate drinker. He had a strong heart, healthy lungs, perfect eyesight, good healing, no known allergies, and had never been seriously ill. If you didn't count a shitty, dead-end childhood of abuse and neglect, his biological parents had bestowed upon him every blessing; you didn't need to look at him through the eyes of a scientist to see he was a specimen of good genetic stock.

Yes, Serena conceded, it was exactly that – the perfection of a robustly healthy body that would go to waste – that dismayed her, especially now, as her own body was rapidly turning on her, destroying itself from within every minute of every day. It pained her to watch his face, square-jawed and even-featured – an attractive face actually, though he scowled most of the time – and his body, leanly muscled under his shabby prison clothes, and know that it would all come to a pointless, untimely end. Strapped down like a slaughterhouse animal, he'd be injected with that toxic cocktail, seizing his heart. They'd record the exact time of death. Then they'd take his body, strip it, dump it in the prison morgue, and that would be that. He'd eventually be buried in the prison yard, and that young, strong body would rot slowly back into the earth. The thought depressed her beyond belief.

If only she could get him to agree to be a part of the trial. His death wouldn't be in vain then; it would be more than just the dreary end to a dismal chain of events that had been set in motion the day he was born. But he wanted no part of it. He heard her out, listened patiently to her pitch, then abruptly told her to get out. Disappointed but not altogether surprised, Serena had left, telling him at the door that she'd be back. 'Think about it,' she'd urged him softly, 'You might just change your mind.'

He hadn't. She had tried again a few times, becoming more desperate each time, especially after yet another fruitless meeting with yet another condemned prisoner. Most were unwilling at the outset to cooperate. And those who were willing, or might be convinced, did not match a carefully specified set of physical requirements.

The situation began to get the better of her. _Stop going back to him, _she told herself._ He's not going to agree_. Ordinarily, she would have been annoyed, frustrated certainly. But she would never have been this distraught. She hated herself for this new, added weakness, this emerging emotional frailty in the face of her own impending death; it was as if in addition to her body betraying her, her keen, scientist's mind were turning on her too.

She had never truly disclosed the full scope of the project to him, as had been agreed by her and her colleagues. Cyberdene had had them all sign strict confidentiality agreements due to the controversial nature of the project. But on that last day, as Serena had sat tremulously in front of Marcus, she'd been on the verge of telling him just how literally she was offering a 'second chance.' Only, he didn't want it. _I'm not looking for a second chance_. She knew then, as he glared at her in disbelief at the audacity of her suggestion, that she had no bargaining chips left; nothing to offer him. He was ready to die_, _and Serena was just beginning to feel the bitterness of defeat after a long, hopeful struggle, when he said the craziest thing imaginable… 

'_I'll sell it to you'_

'_For what?'_

'_A kiss'_

He said it mockingly; she couldn't be sure he was serious, but she agreed anyway. She would never know what made him change his mind so suddenly and unexpectedly right at the end. But there he was, minutes before his own death, finally agreeing to what she'd been asking of him for months. At that instant, with time on her own clock running out, she would have agreed to almost any terms he dictated in exchange for his signature.

But that wasn't the only reason she let him kiss her. When he'd said the words, as surprised as she was, understanding instantly clicked into place in her head. He was dying, as was she. She knew instinctively that for all his outward stoicism, there was some tiny part of him that craved one last moment of physical contact, one last chance to feel something other than the blackness of the approaching end. She'd been right. Because as their lips met he'd cupped her face in his shackled hands desperately, almost tenderly, and the kiss he gave her was so gentle, so full of unrestrained emotion, that despite herself, despite the two perplexed guards watching them, she'd moaned softly.

Pulling back, when he'd made that cruel remark about the taste of death, she'd been hurt and ashamed, but not entirely surprised. Later she'd realized that he'd been holding himself together. He was angry, and sad, and in lashing out at her, he was really just lashing out at his own weakness. At that moment though, she had scrambled to get away from him, mortified, confused, suddenly horrified by the realization that her own end was as surely approaching as his; they were separated only by time and circumstance.

Still, though, she recovered herself enough to be present during the execution. She had a right and a duty to be there after all, as the claimant of the body of the deceased. After the execution, as she waited in the warden's office while the paperwork was completed, Serena tried to make sense of the jumble of things she was feeling. She didn't want to die, not just yet; there was so much more she had wanted to do in the world. And to watch this young man, who should have wanted to live twice as fiercely as her, give up and succumb to death so calmly, had been harder than she had expected.

Quietly she promised herself that she would find a way to make it work. They were on the brink now, and she was almost a hundred percent sure they could pull it off. She could do it, she told herself, her resolve strengthening. As long as she was able to work, she would, as long as she could continue to fight off the cancer. For people everywhere that had deserved a second chance, for people like herself, whose bodies had betrayed them, or who injury had crippled beyond help...

And true to her word, over the following months Serena worked tirelessly with her team, utterly immersed in her tasks. Spurred on by her determination and the terrible realization that time was running out for her, the team came together to perform like never before, working endless shifts and making personal sacrifices that she could never have asked of them. During those feverish months of activity Serena worked on Marcus' body constantly, but she never thought of _him_. So consumed was she by the intricacies of her work that as far as she was concerned he was now just another nameless corpse.

It was only later, as her health finally failed her and she lay in a hospital bed waiting for the end, that this changed. Serena was bitterly regretful that she would never get to see her project completed. If she had had just a little more time, they could have done it. But that would probably not happen now. Her team was capable, brilliant, but they needed her leadership, her expertise. And most importantly they needed the contacts and the clout she had worked so hard to build up over the past several years.

But there was nothing more she could do now; she could only lie there and think. So she thought about what she'd sacrificed for her work; she thought about friends and family; she thought about how hard she and her team had worked, and how, paradoxically, she'd never felt more alive in her life than in those last months. And finally, inevitably, she allowed herself to think about Marcus.

She was quite sure that had he been able to see what they'd done to his dead body in the name of scientific advancement, Marcus would have been horrified, appalled. After all, there were some realities that were just too hard for people to grasp, some choices that were too terrible to rationalize. But Serena was convinced her work had merit, and that it was the way forward for medicine. She may not have been able to personally see the project through, but she consoled herself that surely someone would eventually take up her research where it left off; someone would appreciate its brilliance and its implications for the future of humanity.

She wondered, as she drifted further from reality, what Marcus would have to say to her if she could talk to him now, if she could explain her reasons to him. He had struck her as intelligent, astute; surely he would have been able to see why she had worked so hard on this project. _Suppose_, she imagined saying to him, _suppose it could have brought back your brother – after all, the bullet hit him in the spine, it didn't kill him outright. What if you had a chance to save him, to repair his broken body before he died_?

She also finally allowed herself to admit that she had been hell bent on signing Marcus only partially because of his suitability. The other reason, and the reason she'd been so upset when he refused, was that inexplicably, she had _liked_ something about the boy, had sensed that they were kindred spirits in some way. That in another life, maybe they could have been friends. Instead, for the most part he had probably hated her, despising the sight of her as a vulture circling to claim the remains of his unfortunate life. And yet, in a few fleeting moments she had understood that there was a connection between them, a strange bond where they each were able to understand the other's suffering. That was why he'd opened up to her; he knew instinctively he could talk to her. And that was why he'd kissed her in the end. Almost as if to say, _I know you only need to use my body. But remember that I was alive, that I was a person._

If that was truly what he had meant to do, he had more than succeeded. As much as she had blocked him from her mind while she was still active, thoughts of him came back to her full force now. Serena was haunted especially by his last moments, when he'd held her gaze as the life faded from his eyes with what she imagined to be some sort in unarticulated plea. The fact that he was alive one moment, looking at her, and dead the next, his heart finally giving in to the poison flooding through his veins, stayed with her, reminding her that her own time would be just as brutally simple, without fanfare.

In some strange way, Serena knew watching Marcus die had helped prepare her, just a bit, for her own end. She felt his presence through her last days almost as if he were a phantom by her side, a constant reminder of the futility of life, and the inescapable finality of its conclusion. And after months of suffering, of drifting in and out of a haze of drugs, barely able to recognize friends and colleagues that came to her bedside, when her time finally came, she felt that he was there watching over her the way she had watched over him in his last moments, and that he finally understood. And holding on to this belief, Serena was able to die with some measure of peace.

**2018**

Marcus couldn't even remember which way he'd come. Distraught, he'd stormed through the dank, dimly lit corridors, barely conscious of where he was going. All he could think of was getting away, getting out. What a mess this was, what a total, fucking mess…

Somehow though, he'd managed to make his way through the endless corridors up to the surface, as if instinctively seeking out light and air. He'd eventually come up against a large, iron hatch, and heaving it open, stepped out into a large open-air compound. Bustling, noisy and full of purposeful people and beat-up vehicles moving in all directions, the compound disoriented Marcus further. Squinting in the bright sunlight, his mind whirling and chest heaving he'd hesitated, feeling like an intruder; the enemy. He half-expected people to point at him, for alarms to go off, before realizing that the paranoia was in his head. To the Resistance personnel in front of him he was just another one of the hundreds of soldiers swarming the compound. Nobody knew his face, knew what he was.

At this, his fear was replaced instantly by disgust. He had to get away from it all. He started walking, tentatively at first, his heart in his throat, still waiting to be recognized, to be stopped. The sound of gunfire from the night of his escape echoed in his mind. But he might as well have been invisible. Nothing happened and he kept walking, heading further from the busy compound until he had left it well behind, the low-lying buildings of the base receding behind him. He kept walking in a straight line, further and further from any signs of life, till finally, through the sandy scrub he came up against a tall wire-mesh fence. Beyond it, he knew, were the minefields.

For just a second, Marcus was tempted to climb over the fence and keep walking. Instead, he stopped. He stood against the fence for a long time, resting his forehead against the sun-warmed metal. His body still ached and he felt lightheaded, feverish; clearly his system was still trying to cope with the aftermath of whatever had happened. But he closed his eyes and focused instead on the other sensations he felt; the wind slapping gently against him in gusts, the slow heat of the sun burning softly into his skin, the occasional pattering spray of sand against his clothes. These things calmed him. He'd kept waiting and expecting to feel different on the inside, to feel _mechanical, _as clearly as he had appeared mechanical on the outside.But so far, that hadn't happened. And right now, standing here in the welcome warmth of the sun after endless days of darkness it almost all felt like a bad dream.

He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there when he became aware of a presence. Opening his eyes, he was startled to find himself staring down into a solemn pair of brown eyes. Star.

'Jesus, Star. Where'd you come from?' he asked roughly, more surprised than annoyed.

Unsurprisingly, the child didn't answer. She simply looked at him, unperturbed. Her eyes always seemed so knowing, taking in more than they should. Marcus stepped back from the fence.

More gently now, he tried again. 'How you been, kid?' he asked her.

Star flashed him a small smile. Stepping forward she slipped her small hand easily into his, a familiar gesture except that this time her fingers squeezed warm flesh instead of metal. Marcus grudgingly squeezed back.

He glanced around into the distance; there was not a soul in sight. 'What're you doing out here all by yourself?' he asked curiously. Was it even safe, he found himself wondering, for her to be out there; the base was secured against the machines, sure, but for a little girl wandering around alone there was always another kind of enemy. The sight of Blair sprawled in the mud flashed in his head. Human garbage was everywhere, mixed in with all the rest, waiting to prey on the vulnerable…

Oblivious to his dark thoughts, Star withdrew a small object from her pocket, and put it in the palm of his other hand, the bandaged one. It was an old bone fragment, sun-bleached and fragile-looking. Marcus frowned at the thing in his hand, 'This what you're doing out here? Collecting old bones?' Star grinned, clearly pleased with her find.

He shook his head ruefully. 'Sometimes I forget you're just a kid,' he murmured, speaking more to himself than to her. She looked at him expectantly.

'Well, it is kind of cool,' he conceded finally, looking at it closely. 'Looks like it's from a small bird. A sparrow maybe.'

At this they both looked around, but the pointed absence of birds or other wildlife was made clear by the silence of their surroundings. There was just the lonely sound of the whistling wind. Even more unsettled, Marcus sighed and scratched his head. Beside him, Star stood perfectly still, staring off intently into the distance. After a few seconds Marcus felt a terrible lurch as it suddenly occurred to him that she had gone _too_ still. Alarmed he looked quickly at her, but her face was serenely alert. She was just thinking about something, not zoned out and glazed over the way she got when the machines approached.

Relieved, he ruffled her head. As his fingers sank into the mass of wiry, springy hair, he was aware that the affectionate gesture was uncharacteristic for him. Star didn't seem surprised in the least though, and leaned into his side lazily, her small body relaxed, almost languid. A stark change from the constantly tense, coiled posture he remembered.

Marcus struggled with himself. Star couldn't have known this, but she'd caught him at a crossroads… he'd been on the verge of leaving, of walking away. After everything he' been through, the last thing he was prepared for was for his ugly past to rear its head. And now that it had, the only thing for him to do – the best thing, for them all – was to leave, to get as far away from them as possible. Where he would go or what he would do he wasn't sure. Maybe he had to go back and literally meet his maker. Maybe there was something else in store for him. It hardly mattered. The only thing that did matter was to get out, to leave. After his brother had died he'd had nothing and no one left in the world, and recent events only reaffirmed his belief that that's how it was meant to be. It was the only way to escape the never-ending tangle of his past; to remove from his existence any and every thing that bound him to another human being.

But by showing up at that exact moment, Star had thrown a spanner in the works. Suddenly, the reality of what that decision would mean was thrust in his face, the abstract idea taking concrete form. He would never see Blair again. Never know what became of Kyle and Star. And with the little girl by his side, with the full weight of her annoyingly unquestioning trust bearing down on him, he hesitated.

She had drawn him back into the tangle of human relationships, of expectation and duty. Marcus honestly didn't know what to do. There was every chance that his already shaky future with the Resistance had been destroyed by the truth about his past. But looking at Star, he remembered the many ways in which she, along with Blair and Kyle, and maybe even the Connors, bound him to stay… Besides, running away again, leaving the kids as he'd tried to do once before, seemed wrong, cowardly.

Wearily, he crouched down beside her so they were at eye level, and they stared at each other. She'd just happened to come along… Or had she? He could swear sometimes that the kid could read minds; there was an uncanny prescience to her actions which he had witnessed for himself. And right now, there was an almost reproachful look in her eyes, as if she were rebuking him for his thoughts of desertion. Or was that just his exhausted mind projecting his own guilt onto her?

Finally, Marcus gave up. The struggle was pointless. He knew with unerring certainty what he had to do. It was probably a choice he would regret many times over in the days and weeks to come, but it was his only real choice. Eventually he spoke.

'So. This little treasure hunt of yours. You want some help?'

As she eagerly dragged him forward by the hand, Marcus slipped the small fragment of bone carefully into his breast pocket where it wouldn't get crushed. He knew she'd want it later.


	14. Chapter 14

'We're taking a beating!' Barnes called out grimly over his shoulder.

The atmosphere was tense in the dimly lit Operations room, as men and women crowded around glowing screens mounted atop the control stations. Connor drew closer to where Barnes stood, by the largest screen, and they watched in silence for a moment as several small dots on the screen carried out complex maneuvers, desperately evading fire from larger, slower-moving objects.

'HKs closing in!' an officer named Chang yelled from the next station, his voice tense like a string about to snap. 'And they're still in full range of the turrets. They're not going to make it!'

But Connor was shaking his head even before Chang had spoken. 'Abort. _Now!_' he barked, pointing at Chang. 'I'm not losing a single goddamn pilot over this.'

He turned to Barnes as Chang began radioing the A-10s frantically. 'This isn't working,' he growled in frustration.

Barnes nodded ruefully, 'Yeah, I know… Last time, we hit them with everything we had. We just don't have the firepower anymore. And Skynet's upping its game.'

'What then?' Connor snapped. 'This is unacceptable.' In a moment of sudden anger he pounded his fist violently against the console.

Barnes watched him with concern. This operation was clearly getting under Connor's skin. 'We need a more tactical approach,' he said quietly. 'There has to be one, John… we just have to find it.'

Connor blinked. The muscles in his jaw tensed for a moment, then he exhaled, his shoulders sagging. 'Yeah. You're right.' His exhaustion was suddenly evident.

Barnes looked at the scarred face of his friend and commanding officer, and felt a sudden pang of sympathy. He knew how hard things were for Connor lately. But he also knew better than to say anything about it. Instead they both studied another nearby screen where the Skynet facility was mapped out.

'It's the turrets,' Barnes said finally, 'Skynet must've modified the specs. The A-10s can't get close enough to touch 'em.' He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

'You're right,' Connor muttered, adding, 'But… they _are_ the only significant defense in the facility,'

Barnes nodded. 'If only we had some way of disarming them… then we could send the birds in to level the place. Easy.'

Connor swore softly under his breath. That was the trouble; nothing was easy.

For a few seconds he watched his team at their consoles as they guided the jets back to safety. Kate had been right, he reflected. Things had been quiet for a long time after the night they brought down Skynet Central, but the silence had been ominous. It was becoming clear that Skynet had been regrouping quietly. And now, about a fortnight after it all went down, they were beginning to notice a more aggressive, deliberate resurgence. The facility they were trying to destroy was one that had come up suddenly, almost overnight. _Almost,_ John found himself thinking with a mixture of fear and loathing, _as if Skynet's trying to prove a point_.

His own recovery had slowed things down despite his best efforts. He was driving himself as hard as he could but with things out there picking up now, it just wasn't enough. And to make matters worse, reports coming in from across the country confirmed that political posturing and manoeuvring within the remaining, scattered ranks of the Resistance was beginning to come to the fore. Suddenly deprived of – or freed from – the strict structure and ordered leadership they were so used to and so dependent on, some units were breaking away to form rogue groups, acting on their own. Others seemed more concerned with questioning John Connor's sudden rise to prominence than with fighting the war. It was a messy, potentially ugly situation; there were spreading whispers that several of the East Coast contingents seemed unlikely to accept John as their leader, despite everything that had happened.

The way John saw it, first and foremost he had a goddamned war to fight. He had little patience for politics. But he was no fool either. If this was all to play out the way it had been foretold, he would have to maintain a firm grasp on the situation, would have to find a way to bring the Resistance back together. There was no way the humans would overthrow Skynet if they were busy squabbling and fighting amongst themselves. If they succumbed to their petty differences Skynet might as well sit back and let _them_ do its job. Sooner or later, the conflict would turn bloody, with humans turning on other humans as had been the unfortunate case all throughout the history of mankind, and that would be the end of it. Game over.

Connor knew that he would have to establish himself decisively soon, to quell the rumblings of dissent that were growing louder. But the weight of his responsibility was getting heavier every day. Part of him had not yet come to terms with the fact that yet another part of the 'prophecy' was finally coming true.

He glanced back at the team. There was a palpable sense of relief in the room now; the jets had successfully aborted the mission and were returning to base. John could afford to step out for a bit. 'I need a minute,' he told Barnes, 'Need to think.'

In the small office off the main command room, John sank down in a worn old leather desk chair. For the first time that day he forced himself to relax, and realized every muscle in his body was tightly coiled. Leaning slowly back in the chair he propped his feet up on the table and closed his eyes. 

* * *

As the unspeakable horror of Judgment Day had begun to fade slightly, and year after grim year had passed in unending warfare against the machines, sometimes John would look around him – at the men and women with whom he served, at his commanding officers, at the military bases they had set up and populated against all odds across the land – and tell himself that maybe, somehow, the future had been altered. That instead of the being the future savior of all humanity, maybe he was destined to be just another soldier after all.

The Resistance had gathered strength over the years, organized itself into a formidable military force spread over vast territories, and it was all but impossible to envision a scenario where he, a single man, a simple soldier, would be thrust to the forefront to lead it all. There was a chain of command, after all. There were men in charge.

But in the end all it took to destroy everything was one fateful day, and now that day had come and gone, leaving him in charge. Just like she'd told him all his life. Finally, it was time to become _the_ John Connor, and he was trying his best, but it was all sometimes too much to handle. He barely slept anymore, to Kate's growing concern.

Growing up in the unusual circumstances he had, John had struggled alone with burdens he knew no one else could understand. Throughout his teenage years, and particularly after his mother died, resentment, anger and an ever-present sense of dread had plagued him wherever he went. But after Judgment Day, a curious change had come over him. As the days passed and John and Kate began to recover from their initial shell-shocked and grief-stricken state, this became evident to John. He wasn't sure what it was, but something inside him had changed.

It was only several years later, with the clarity of hindsight, that he had realized that while Judgment Day had been horrific and devastating, for him personally it had also been strangely cathartic. The doomsday prophecies that had hung like chains around his neck for years had finally come to pass; the apocalypse Kyle and his mother had fought to prevent had occurred. _The worst had happened_. And the instant it did – the instant the bombs fell – the myth dissolved. Reality took center stage, and the daily battle to fight and to survive drove all other thoughts from his mind – from _their_ minds. For years he'd carried a terrible sense of foreboding, a clenched and pent-up helpless dread in anticipation of the awful future. Now, he realized guiltily, in the aftermath of the end, there bloomed inside his chest a tiny, awful seed of relief. The world had been destroyed, but at least the inevitable future had arrived, and they could get on with the business of dealing with it instead of waiting, of living in constant fear.

Ashamed of these feelings, he kept them to himself; one of the few things he could not bring himself to share with Kate. During their time in the fallout shelter John had told Kate everything, the whole story from beginning to end, as well as he could piece it together. He had talked for hours, his voice growing hoarse. She had listened in silence, weeping quietly sometimes, then regaining control, her expressions alternating between horror, sorrow, anger and resignation. She never once interrupted. When he finished she'd wiped her eyes and they'd sat in silence for a long time. Finally she'd begun to ask him questions… about elements of his story that she hadn't understood, parts that needed further explanation. He hadn't been able to answer a lot of her questions; he himself knew only that which he had been told by his mother and the Terminator. The gaps in his version of the story were simply that – gaps. Their unanswered questions were part of their future now, to be lived and understood as and when the time came.

His mother, Kyle, and the machines from the future had all done their part; their struggles and sacrifices had delivered him to a place where he alone would now have to decide what to do. He, and now Kate, continued the journey all on their own, guided by little more than their own training and will to survive, to fight. And so, John had done the only thing possible, the only thing all human beings faced with great tragedy must do eventually if they are to survive; he had moved on. He had come to terms with the fact that the world as they knew it had ended. And that his past, like the world to which it belonged, was something he had to put behind him in order to fight the battles ahead. So, he had buried the ache of his grief over Sarah's death, his nagging regret over never knowing his father. He had put away all thoughts of the Terminator… who he'd continued to think of with an irrational affection.

Many years had passed in hardship and war. The bitter struggle was so all-consuming that sometimes John truly felt that his old life had been a dream. He remembered it all almost as a story told to him by someone else. There was a strange duality to this kind of thought; on the one hand, his mother's presence was always with him, and he was always mindful of what she had foretold. But on the other, this new, post-Judgment Day life was very much his own, far removed from his life as a boy, a lonely and uncharted journey made bearable only by the presence of Kate by his side. He'd lived this way for so long that finally, he had begun to believe that the wild, incredible events of his youth were far behind him, irretrievably buried.

_Until now_.

It had all started with that fateful operation on the Skynet research facility, John mused. And when Marcus had showed up in their midst, well, everything had simply cracked wide open. The lines separating the past, present and future blurred and shifted, and suddenly everything was uncertain again. John's reaction to this most human of all the machines he'd ever seen had been greatly tempered on the outside. But inside he'd been a tumult of raging emotion.

_I thought I knew our enemy, _he'd told Kate, barely able to keep his voice steady. _But that thing in there makes me feel like I know nothing._ For the first time in years he was unable to heed the one piece of his mother's advice he'd always followed: to not think too deeply about certain things. Could drive you crazy, she'd warned him. As a boy he'd accepted so many fantastical truths easily. But now it was different.

He couldn't help thinking about what the appearance of Marcus meant. He puzzled over whether Marcus had existed when Kyle came back to warn his mother. Or if the changes they'd managed to make in the timeline when he was thirteen had altered history _beyond_ simply postponing Judgment Day. If Marcus never existed in Kyle's time that would mean that the changes to this future were extreme and unpredictable. That raised the question as to whether the defeat of Skynet was still imminent, or was that too now a looming question mark?

Or was Marcus' arrival in their midst somehow a precursor to the future… to the eventual act of reprogramming the Terminators themselves? Was it in some way because of _Marcus_, and all he had done, that John had eventually decided the key to securing the future was by using a machine to save his mother… to save himself? There was no beginning and no end to the questions; it was like the snake swallowing its own tail…

There was also, for John, the added difficulty of processing the events that had taken place since Marcus entered their lives. The fact that once again, a mysterious half-man, half-machine creature had appeared, seemingly out of thin air one day, and saved his life in the most dramatic fashion possible was, to put it mildly, messing with Connor's head. He felt trapped in a strange dance of destiny with these creatures, these abominations of humanity who should rightfully have been his mortal enemy but who kept saving him, over and over.

The Terminators, despite John's boyhood attachment to them, had clearly been_ machines_ made to look like _men_. But Marcus was the opposite. From the very first contact John had with him, it was frighteningly clear that Marcus was a _man_ someone had tried to turn into a _machine_. This distinction was not lost on John. If anything it raised more alarming questions about the future of humanity…

John had struggled to keep all this at bay inside him. _'What are you?_' he had shouted at Marcus in a moment of desperation. Marcus' reply then seemed to echo the way Connor suddenly felt about everything now. '_I don't know.'_ The only thing John knew was that after all those years of relative calm, of acceptance, of methodically training himself to shut his mind to some things, he was in turmoil again. Suddenly, he found himself plagued by relentless fear and uncertainty in every waking moment. The old familiar sensation, the leaden knot in his chest, was back.

Connor sighed heavily. He massaged his temples; he was beginning to get a nasty headache.

No one knew yet how Marcus' existence fit into the larger scheme of things, or what it meant for the future of the human race, and that was troubling enough. But on a more practical note, no one really knew what to do with him – how to deal with his presence in their midst. Whatever he was, he was _there. _As real and as alive – arguably anyway – as any of them. And he was a continuing challenge.

As his thoughts drifted, John now thought back to the dramatic exchange between Marcus and Silverman earlier in the day. He'd looked around the room after Marcus had stormed out, and seen varying degrees of shock and surprise on the faces around him. He hadn't had time to dwell on the incident though – almost immediately, he and Barnes had been called away to attend to more urgent business. Now, several hours later, in the wake of the unsuccessful operation that had consumed the better part of his day, as John mulled over the day's events for the first time, he realized that subconsciously, he'd already formed his opinions on the matter.

Connor was not surprised to learn the truth about Marcus' past. It all made perfect sense now; a condemned man, a top-secret experimental research project, military and government involvement…. It was practically a cliché. And the fact that Marcus was responsible for the deaths of two men – maybe three if you counted the brother – was hardly a shock either. It was a truth John had instinctively suspected all along. In the days of Marcus' recovery he had sensed a sort of shadow hanging over him. And he'd also known in his gut that it this was something altogether separate from Marcus discovering how he had been… altered. Finally, here was the truth.

John had known all kinds of men in his life: cowards, opportunists, bullies… he had a handle on what kind of man was capable of what. Was Marcus capable of cold-blooded murder? Sure. But John was willing to bet he'd need a good reason. As unlikely as it may have seemed when they'd first glared at each other across six inches of space, Marcus had earned Connor's trust. It was because of this that Connor could not hold Marcus' past against him. It was a past that literally belonged to another life; he'd committed murder, the state had executed him. That, right there, closed the chapter as far as Connor was concerned. Why put the man on trial all over again for something he'd already been punished for? Clearly, he still hadn't forgiven himself. John knew a thing or two about guilt, and living with the kind of guilt Marcus had exhibited had to be punishment enough.

After all, John reflected, if you believed you could make your own future, then you had to be brave enough to let go of the past. Of course, there were some parts that were harder to let go of than others. Once in a while, when something was bothering him particularly, he'd search for answers in his mother's tapes, playing and replaying the same worn out messages, listening to every nuance of her voice. Trying to draw out every possible hidden meaning of her words, wishing she were there to explain things to him herself. But she wasn't. And there was no guarantee that even if she was, she could have helped in this particular situation. She may have been just as puzzled as them, perhaps more so; John remembered, now that he allowed himself to think about it, her deep distrust and fear of the Terminator sent back by the Resistance...

No, there was no telling what Sarah Connor would have made of Marcus Wright. But one thing was for certain. The reality of Marcus' existence had blurred the line between human and machine forever for them all, and with it had vanished the small comfort that at least the lines of this battle were clearly drawn. 

* * *

Deep in thought, John ran his fingers absently over the scar tissue running down his face. It was rarely that he allowed himself the luxury – or was it self-indulgence – of thinking so long and so deeply. But maybe sometimes you needed to have a good, long think. Sometimes, turning to look back helped to put what lay ahead into perspective…

'John?'

John looked up with a start. Barnes stood in the door, watching him patiently. 'You okay?' Barnes finally asked.

John nodded. 'I am.' He swung his feet off the table, ignoring the twinge in his chest. His body was still knitting itself back together. 'I was just… thinking.'

Barnes entered the room with an air of resignation, shutting the door behind him. He settled on the edge of the table. Barnes rarely sat in chairs. 'All that thinking do you any good?'

'Maybe,' John replied distractedly. A thought was forming in his head.

Barnes took off his cap, rubbed his head wearily. 'I think we should re-group on this tomorrow. I'll call the team together at oh six hundred – '

'Marcus.' John said suddenly. His expression had changed, become purposeful.

Barnes frowned. 'What?' he asked, trepidation in his voice.

'_Marcus,' _Connor repeated, becoming animated now. 'Why didn't I think of it earlier… Look, you said it yourself; Skynet is stepping up its game. It's using new tactics. It's time we did the same.'

'John…' Barnes began.

'Tell me I'm wrong, Barnes. Tell me it doesn't make sense to use him on this.' Connor fixed Barnes with an unflinching stare.

But Barnes held his gaze. 'It's not that, and you know it. Maybe it makes sense. Maybe he can even help us finish this thing. But that's not what I'm thinking about here.'

For a moment they glared at each other. Then John sat back in his chair with a frustrated sigh.

'You know what this means John. You know what bringing him in like this on a mission means. We'd be stirring shit up like nobody's business.' Barnes jabbed his finger at Connor for emphasis. 'And you don't need that kind of crap right now.'

'Yeah, but what I _do_ need is to start kicking Skynet's ass,' John countered. 'Look I get it, Barnes. I know you're looking out for me. But I gotta go with my gut here. I think he can help us on this mission. And to me right now, that is top priority.'

Barnes was shaking his head.

'Look, think about it. If this works, we have a valuable asset against Skynet.'

Barnes mulled over this. 'You sure he's going to agree?'

Connor spread his hands. 'Who could have it in for Skynet more than him? What else is there for him? At least this way he has a chance at a little payback. Same as all of us.'

Barnes looked mutinous, but he also knew Connor well enough to realize that his mind was made up. He didn't like the idea, and he didn't like Marcus Wright – as much as he had grudgingly come to accept that they all owed him big time – but he had to admit there was a good possibility that bringing him in on this mission might be a smart thing to do. After a few seconds he spoke up. 'Do we even know where he is? Has anyone seen him since that little scene this morning?'

John shook his head grimly. 'I don't know. But unless the son-of-a-bitch has run off to take on all of Skynet on his own again, he has to be somewhere on this base.' He slapped Barnes on the back. 'And you're going to find him.' 

* * *

In the small, dismal room Kyle and Star shared, Star sat curled up on one of the twin beds, the contents of her pouch spread on the mattress before her. Intently she studied the collection of bones and fragments she and Marcus had spent the better part of the afternoon and evening collecting. She seemed utterly content, absorbed in the remains of dead creatures. _Morbid_, Marcus thought. Then he paused. No, he corrected himself, it was fitting. Death had been the one constant in her short life so far; what could she be if not comfortable with it?

_And I thought I had a fucked-up childhood._

Twilight had set in as they made their way back from the field to the base. Unsure where else to go, and reluctant to seek out any of the others, Marcus had simply followed Star through the dank corridors to this little room with its sharply angled ceiling and exposed pipes along one wall. Star busied herself immediately with her treasures, and exhausted, he'd sat down on the bed opposite, Kyle's bed. Now he sat watching her dumbly, fighting the throbbing pain in his skull and the whirling confusion in his brain.

Out under the open sky with Star he'd been able to push things out of his mind for a few hours. Now that they were back in the bleak confines of the base, it all came crowding back in with a vengeance. He couldn't think straight, and had no idea what lay in store for him. How had the others reacted to the truth about his past? How would he ever face them again? How the hell would he face Blair…

And there was another thing troubling him; he was disconcerted by how much effort Star's little field expedition had cost him. He felt weak and unwell, nowhere near invincible. He doubted he could even lift Star right now if he had to, let alone take on a terminator. _What the hell is happening to me?_ While he tried to rationalize this as his systems - both organic and mechanical – recovering, as Kate had suggested, Marcus had a strange, growing conviction that something had gone permanently wrong inside of him as a result of the probe. That they'd 'broken' something inside him that could not be fixed.

'Where's Kyle?' he asked, breaking the silence. His voice sounded strained to his own ears.

Star looked across at him, serious as ever. She glanced at the shotgun propped in one corner.

'Is he at training?'

She nodded.

Exhaustion rolled over him in waves. 'Good,' he muttered, 'I'm going to lie down for a few minutes.'

As he lowered himself gingerly onto the flimsy cot, she watched him seriously.

Marcus returned her steady gaze with a dry look. 'D'you have to look at me like that?' he grumbled. Then, to reassure her, 'I'm fine, Star. Just tired.'

He found that the instant his head came to rest on the flat, lumpy pillow, his eyelids became too heavy to hold open. He could feel her gaze still on him though, and continued speaking to her with his eyes shut. 'Don't worry, okay? Kind of a rough day, that's all. Until you came along anyway...' He was slurring now, his words trailing off.

At this, though he couldn't see her, Star nodded thoughtfully. She stayed completely still, watching him, listening as his breathing deepened, thinking inscrutable thoughts in her head. Within a few minutes he was fast asleep, oblivious to what John Connor had in store for him.


	15. Chapter 15

It was dark out. They had been training all day. Kyle slung his Resistance jacket over his shoulder, feeling the ache in the muscles along his arm as he did so. It was a good kind of ache, the result of having put in a hard day's work. His training regimen was grueling, but he relished it. Despite his slight frame, he was already a good fighter; years of fending for himself among the machines had seen to that. But he'd never had any formal combat training, and he found the techniques he was learning now immensely useful.

Whatever he'd learned before, he'd been taught by his father, or had figured out on his own through more than one close encounter with the machines. And of course, there was the odd trick he had picked up along the way… a small half-smile crossed his face as he recalled Marcus teaching him how to strap his shotgun to his arm. The Resistance used more, well, advanced methods, but Kyle had a feeling that one was going to come in handy one day…

At the thought of Marcus though, he sobered almost instantly. Right before he went into his last session of the day, Barnes had caught up to him. When he pulled Kyle aside asking him if he'd seen Marcus, Kyle immediately knew something was wrong. He told Barnes he hadn't in fact seen or heard of him all day, and Barnes had hesitated a moment. 'Look, kid,' he'd said, 'I know you're, y'know… friends. So… I think you gotta hear what happened today.' Kyle had listened in growing concern, his large eyes searching Barnes' face as he spoke. _No_, he wanted to say, _you've got it wrong. That can't be right._ For all that had happened, he found it hard to believe that Marcus had been responsible for shooting someone in cold blood. He just couldn't see him as a murderer.

Kyle trudged across the compound towards the barracks, now feeling the chill of the night air. Out of habit, he scanned the area as he walked, quietly alert despite the exhaustion of his body. He had to remind himself that there probably weren't any T-600s lurking behind the tarpaulin-covered trucks parked in the distance. Now and then he had to repeat this little ritual, reminding himself where he was. He'd grown so used to being hunted all the time that constant vigilance had become his natural state of mind. You'd think it would wear you down, but ironically, it was more exhausting being _safe._

Left on his own after the death of his father – the last surviving member of his family – Kyle had been desperately alone. At first he had thought he would die, more out of grief and loneliness than anything to do with the machines. But with typical human resilience, he had survived. He got through each day at a time, hiding out, scraping by… and before he knew it, he was strangely used to his bleak, solitary existence. But as much as he had trained himself to be strong and fiercely independent, he had craved company, some human contact. Which was why, when he found Star cowering amid the ruins of a recently destroyed hideout, he instantly vowed to protect her with his life. That was also why, when Marcus showed up out of the blue, Kyle took to him eagerly and immediately.

For all his maturity, Kyle was only a sixteen year old boy, and Marcus – as unlikely a role model as he was – fulfilled Kyle's desperate longing for an adult presence in his life. Their shared experiences in the two days they'd spent hiding and running from the machines had been enough to cement Marcus' place in Kyle's eyes as someone to look up to, to rely on… almost like an older brother. That was just the way it was in the post-Judgment Day world; life was so fragile and so fleeting that you could either choose to forsake all bonds… or hold fast to even the most tenuous ones.

Kyle had chosen the latter of course, and to his credit, so had Marcus… they remained close and had become, just as Barnes had awkwardly admitted, friends. In many ways, Kyle reflected now, he felt a closer bond with Marcus than with anyone on the base other than Star. There were plenty of people on the base, and most of them were decent enough, but the harsh reality of a life spent fighting the machines left little time for overtures of friendship. Kate and the others were welcoming, and Connor was strangely protective of him – Kyle still sometimes wondered why John Connor had seemed so relieved to find him, an insignificant teenager, in the factory that night – but Connor was a desperately busy man. Kyle would have liked to get to know him better, but even if Connor hadn't been as busy as he was, Kyle saw him as a somewhat larger-than-life figure, and held him in a sort of awe that necessitated respectful distance.

Marcus on the other hand, was _there._ Especially since he had been confined to the sick-bay, Marcus had had nothing else but his own brooding thoughts to occupy his time. So, when Kyle came by to talk, he listened. The more he thought about it, the more Kyle felt that he and Marcus were a lot alike in many ways. Even though their circumstances were entirely different, they were both lost, both outsiders that belonged nowhere and to no-one. Especially now that they were on the base, Kyle felt a heightened sense of isolation from the others around him that he knew only Marcus shared and could understand.

They were both aimless, each trying in his own way to cope with this new, disorienting phase in their existence. Of course, their methods were poles apart. Kyle hoped to find meaning by joining the Resistance, and threw all his energy into assimilating, into learning everything he could. Marcus on the other hand, seemed convinced there _was_ no meaning, and instead focused on battling his own invisible demons, drawing deeper and deeper into his own shell.

Now that Kyle had finally learned what those demons were, the closed-off temperament and prickly demeanor of his friend took on new meaning. He now suddenly understood why Marcus seemed so tormented, so reluctant to open up; why, sometimes, after seeming to let Kyle in he would suddenly get angry, and push him away again. His long silences, his haunted eyes and his often cryptic answers to Kyle's nagging questions all made sense now…

But, they _were_ friends and friends didn't just turn on each other. As disappointed as he was, Kyle knew he would not let his feelings taint his friendship with Marcus. Marcus would never admit to relying on anyone, but Kyle knew that he was one of a handful of people who did actually mean something to Marcus. If anything, Marcus would need him more now that the truth was out…

As Kyle finally reached his room and pushed open the door, he was so deep in thought that at first he barely registered the sight in front of him.

Star was curled up on her bunk, passed out. There were little pieces of something scattered all around her; she was forever collecting odds and ends to bring home, and from the look of it, she'd fallen asleep while playing with her finds. And on the bed opposite - his bed - stretched out fast asleep, was Marcus.

For a moment Kyle stood completely still, his mouth open in surprise, looking from Marcus to Star and back. Of course. While everyone had been searching for him all day, Marcus had been out in the wilderness somewhere with Star, getting up to who knew what. _Getting away from it all_, a voice in Kyle's head corrected. Kyle understood how badly Marcus would have needed a small escape, some temporary peace. Where better to find it with than Star and her endless placid wanderings.

Bending, Kyle picked a small piece of bone off of the pillow beside Star's hand. He glanced at Marcus, who hadn't so much as stirred when Kyle entered the room. He was obviously exhausted. _I bet I would be, too, _Kyle thought ruefully, as he reluctantly reached down to shake Marcus awake. At least Barnes could call off the manhunt...

* * *

The first time he'd met John Connor, Marcus had had no trouble staring him down despite being in a compromised position. Now, he found he could barely maintain eye contact. They sat across from each other at the large table in the center of the room. A screen embedded in the surface of the table cast a faint greenish glow upward into Connor's face. The light, and Connor's newly-formed scars, made him look vaguely menacing.

'We've been looking for you for hours,' Connor stated.

Marcus made no reply.

'Where the hell where you?' John's tone was neutral.

Marcus clenched his jaw. 'I needed some air,' he muttered finally, aware that this sounded stupid.

But Connor chewed on this for a minute, then nodded slowly. 'Fair enough.' He fixed Marcus with a piercing look, scrutinizing him. He seemed to be debating something. Finally, in a gruff undertone he asked, 'You alright?'

Surprised, Marcus looked sharply at him, then averted his eyes. Concern was the last thing he had expected from Connor, but clearly John's question had been genuine. When he thought back to the dramatic scene of that morning, Marcus berated himself for slipping the way he had, for showing so much emotion. 'I'm okay,' he mumbled, embarrassed.

'Okay. Let's get to it then.'

John's manner became brisk and efficient as he tapped the touchscreen, displaying a mapped out section of terrain. 'This,' he said, indicating the area 'Is a Skynet facility, a new one. The resurgence is picking up drastically for the first time since after we destroyed Skynet Central.' He exchanged a look with Barnes who was standing to his left, arms folded.

'The facility is still under construction, but its huge. We think they're trying to establish another factory, like the one we saw at Skynet Central. Remember?'

'Of course.' How could he forget anything about that hellish place? He saw it every night in his dreams.

'Well, the factory is on the borders of the Northern sector. Closer than we'd like. All the more reason to destroy it before they get it up and running, and the area is crawling with newly-minted T-800s.' Connor's face was grim, and Marcus shuddered inwardly at the thought.

But he was confused.

Why the hell was Connor sharing all this with him? When Kyle had roused him from his sleep and fetched Barnes, Barnes' only words had been 'Connor wants to see you.' Disoriented and tired as he already was, an ominous feeling had gnawed at Marcus' insides as they trudged down the halls in silence. He had expected some sort of confrontation, a reprimand… _something_. Instead, they were discussing… battle plans?

'I see your point,' he said now, 'But what's this got to do with me?'

Barnes reached over and enlarged something on the screen. A detailed schematic popped up. 'The turrets,' John said, 'Are the primary perimeter defense of the facility, and they've been upgraded. You encountered the same design at Skynet Central didn't you?'

Marcus stared at the schematic and recalled hiding in the shadows outside Skynet, working up the courage to step out in front of those mammoth towers… Despite himself he swallowed nervously. 'Yeah.'

'They're essentially the same blueprint but now they've got long-range capabilities like we've never seen before, and they're managing to hold off our jets. We can't touch 'em from the air. We're thinking the only way to get past them is to disable them manually. On the ground.' Connor planted his elbows on the table and looked steadily at Marcus. 'That's where you come in. I think if anyone has a chance of getting past them on the ground, it's you.'

Marcus stared at him for a moment, taking in the implications of all this. What Connor was proposing sounded like a suicide mission, and while that in itself was not actually such a turn-off, it also sounded like a ridiculously half-baked idea.

'Well?'

Marcus was suddenly so full of questions and objections he didn't know how to begin voicing them. 'Look, first of all,' he began, 'I don't know how to disable those things. If you're thinking of how I got into Skynet Central…' he paused awkwardly, 'that's when they thought I was one of them, remember? They just scanned me and let me through. And I disarmed the thing through the main Skynet network, while I was hooked up to it.' He gestured at the back of his head. 'Through the chip. You know that's a link I couldn't make now even if I had a chance.'

'Yes, I know,' Connor was nodding. 'But you're not going to have to. We've studied Skynet's designs extensively, and we know that most of the machines have a manual control, in case their link to the network breaks down. Just like any machine, they have a power source and a switch. We don't have exact details on the turrets' design, but we know enough about Skynet's systems that once you're there, one of my TechComm guys can guide you on what to look for and what to do.'

'_Once I'm there_?' Marcus repeated. 'I don't think they're going to let me stroll in like last time. Just saying.'

'No shit.' Barnes muttered.

Marcus simply looked at him, so he grudgingly continued, 'We can provide an aerial distraction long enough to get you in on the ground. If we keep them busy enough in the air they might not notice you on the ground. For a while anyway.'

'Plus,' Connor added matter-of-factly, 'Even if they do detect you, with your metal endoskeleton, you're more likely to get past them than any of us.'

At this there was silence.

Marcus sat thinking this over for a while. Then he looked up at Connor with a trace of an ironic smile. 'So, did you pick me 'cause I'm most likely to succeed or because I'm most expendable?'

Connor held his gaze. 'I should say a little of both,' he said bluntly, 'But that's actually not true. What's true is, you have unique physical abilities that could really be used to our advantage. So, that makes you anything but expendable. In fact, if you agree to do this, consider yourself under orders to get your ass back here in one piece.'

Marcus looked skeptically at him. 'Orders, huh?'

Connor spoke gravely. 'That's the second part of all this. Marcus there's something I need to make clear. If you accept this mission, you in effect accept becoming an official part of the Resistance.' He paused, adding in a sardonic undertone, 'Or whatever remains of it.'

But Marcus barely heard that last part. Connor's words struck him like a thunderclap. _Part of the Resistance… _

The old Marcus would have told Connor to stick his mission where the sun didn't shine; Marcus Wright was nobody's footsoldier, and he didn't take orders from anyone. But that instinctively childish, egotistical part of him was now immediately countered by his better sense. He found he was surprised and even moved; was Connor actually accepting him, the hybrid freak that he was, into the fold? Was he actually offering to make him a legitimate and real part of the human Resistance? By doing that, he was making a very clear statement that he accepted Marcus as one of them. As a man, not a machine…

But then again, did Connor's acceptance really mean that much to him? After all, it was only Connor and a handful of the others who seemed to accept him; even his right-hand man Barnes made no secret of his barely-concealed hostility… so wasn't it really a farce to say he could be part of the Resistance? They just wanted to use him, use his abilities… And, Marcus considered, right now he was here of his own free will. He answered to nobody and owed nothing. He could get up right now and leave, walk into the ether, and nobody could stop him. Did he really want to relinquish this personal freedom, his autonomy – one of the last few precious things left to him that Skynet hadn't managed to take away – to join the Resistance where he would probably always be little better than an outcast, a freak-show relegated to the fringes? He felt a wave of something familiar rising in him, a murky, indefinable feeling that physically nauseated him and threatened to overwhelm…

'Well, are you in?' Connor was asking. 'If you want, take some time to think about it –'

'No.' Marcus broke in.

Barnes and Connor exchanged a look.

'No, I mean… I don't need to think about it.' Marcus spoke in a low voice and kept his gaze fixed on the tabletop. 'I'll do it.'

Who was he fooling? He'd made his decision when he'd looked into Star's trusting eyes, when he'd imagined never seeing Blair again. As much as he believed he could never really be a meaningful part of their lives, he had thrown his lot in with them; just to be around them would have to be enough, to have that little bit of contact, something to make him feel close to human. He had to admit, somewhere deep down inside he had grown very tired of being alone…

Connor nodded, seemingly satisfied. 'Good,' he said, 'So that's settled. Let's get on with –'

'Are you sure?' Marcus interrupted very quietly, still staring at the table.

Connor paused. 'Of course I'm sure. So far this is the only plan that makes sense, otherwise we're just expending resources and time we can't spare-'

Marcus shook his head. 'No. I mean, _me_. Have you thought this through?' Absurdly, his throat ached now. He swallowed the feeling down. 'Have you thought about how people are going to react?'

At this, Barnes looked meaningfully at John. _Same argument I was making_, his look said.

'And…' Marcus forced himself to say the words 'Have you forgotten what happened this morning?'

There was a long, heavy pause.

'Look,' Connor began, 'I haven't forgotten anything. I've thought this all through.

Marcus stared at his hands, unable to meet Connor's eyes.

'Marcus,' Connor continued roughly, 'We all have shit in our past. I'm not saying that it diminishes what you did, because it doesn't. Nothing can. If you have blood on your hands, that's never going to go away. But, you were convicted and executed. So you did pay for it. Right?'

Marcus shook his head. 'Not enough,' he mumbled, barely audible. His hatred of himself and the things he'd done came rushing back in…

Connor nodded curtly. 'I'm glad you feel that way. If you didn't, I wouldn't be asking you to join us. It's because you have remorse that I know you can find redemption.'

'Redemption?' Marcus spat the word out, anger suddenly blazing inside him as he now raised his head to glare at Connor. 'You think there's some kind of redemption for me? That's a fucking joke.'

Barnes was watching silently, looking from Connor to Marcus and back.

'I don't know,' Connor answered calmly, unfazed. 'That will depend on you, and how you choose to play this hand you were dealt. Look, I know you didn't ask to come back from the dead – especially not like this. And if not for Serena Kogan, if not for Cyberdyne,' John continued, 'you'd still be dead right now - dead because you were put to death for the crimes you committed. Am I right?'

Sullenly, Marcus nodded.

'Well, that's fair enough then.' Connor told him. 'You paid for what you did with your life. And as far as I'm concerned, that chapter closed when the coroner called time of death.' At this Marcus squirmed in his chair, but Connor continued, brisk, almost impatient. 'The dead don't get the luxury of guilt. You're guilty right now, because however you look at, you're alive… and everybody gets that you didn't want to be. But you know what?' Connor leaned forward and fixed Marcus with a deadly glare. 'Deal with it,' he growled. 'You happened to get a second chance. _Nobody_ gets that. _You did._ Now don't fuck it up.'

Defiantly, Marcus sat silent. But as much as he wanted to fight it, the sense in Connor's words appealed to him. He had to admit that he was impressed by Connor's clearheaded-ness, his impartiality. Not everybody would give a convicted murderer a second chance.

After a few minutes of silence dragged out Marcus willed himself to swallow his pride. 'Fine,' he growled. 'I won't.'

'Good.' Connor sat back, satisfied. 'In that case…' As Marcus watched warily, Connor got to his feet, and extended his hand.

Marcus blinked. Then he rose slowly, taking Connor's hand. Connor's grip matched his own in strength, and as they shook firmly, briefly, and as Marcus stared for just a moment into the eyes of his new commanding officer, among a jumble of mixed feelings he was aware of a measure of gratitude, of relief.

'Welcome to the Resistance,' Connor was saying seriously.

Marcus nodded. 'Thank you,' he found himself replying quietly.


	16. Chapter 16

_Marcus Wright, soldier for the Human Resistance_**.**

At this thought, Marcus let out a silent, mirthless laugh. He sat hunched over on the flimsy cot in the tiny room – if you chose to call it a room – that Barnes had shown him to. The space was really little more than a storage closet, barely big enough to hold the cot and a small, battered wooden table shoved next to it. On the table sat a rusty iron gooseneck lamp that had once been coated with a layer of bright blue paint, and which now provided he only light in the dank, claustrophobic space.

Marcus was hardly bothered by the room, though. It _had_ struck him – when Barnes first turned the key in the lock and unceremoniously shoved the door open – that ironically, his cell at Longview had been bigger. But if he'd had a choice, he would have taken his tiny, grubby hole any day; if nothing else, after his dialogue with Connor, Marcus felt like a legitimately free man for the first time since one fateful day in early August of 2002…

But there was no time to dwell on that. There were more pressing things to think about, to do.

* * *

As he and Barnes had walked in silence down row after row of the subterranean tunnels and corridors that made up the barracks, Marcus had stared at the mostly closed doors lining the walls. Here and there you'd pass a partially or fully open door and catch a fleeting glimpse of a meager, shabby interior… once or twice they passed small children darting around, and more than a few adults entering and exiting their quarters nodded respectfully at Barnes and glanced curiously at Marcus.

It was a maze, Marcus realized, and wondered how he was supposed to find her. The unpleasant realization that he would have to ask Barnes had dawned on him. So, as Barnes had turned to leave after showing Marcus to his new quarters, Marcus found himself calling reluctantly to him.

'Barnes!'

The other man had turned back slowly. 'What?'

Marcus had hesitated. 'Look, I need a little favor,' he'd begun stiffly…

Barnes had just looked at him, expressionless.

'I, uh, need to find Blair.' Marcus paused. 'D'you know where she'd be?'

In response, Barnes had just folded his arms slowly. The two men looked at each other in silence.

'Well?' Marcus was forced to prompt.

Barnes seemed to be thinking. Finally he let out a sigh, shook his head wonderingly. 'Listen, I don't know what this is between you and Blair,' he began, quiet vehemence in his voice, 'And I know I haven't exactly been in her corner lately. But whatever's going on with you two… She's been through enough because of you already. So you better not fuck around with her. If you do, you'll have people to answer to. Including me.'

Marcus blinked in surprise. The last thing he'd expected was for Barnes to be looking out for Blair. _If_ that's what he was even doing; maybe, Marcus reasoned quickly in his head, Barnes just hated him so much he wanted to make sure he kept his distance from the people around them.

Reigning in his anger, he countered quietly, 'That's pretty rich coming from the guy that fired a rocket at her a few weeks ago.'

At this, Barnes had the decency to look chastened for a moment.

Before he could respond, Marcus added, 'But you should know that the last thing I want is to hurt Blair in any way. She's done more for me than I could ever have asked, and I would never let anyone harm her. _Especially_ me. Got it?'

Barnes simply looked at him appraisingly.

'I just wanna talk to her because I owe her an explanation for everything I've kept from her. And if you won't tell me where she is I'll just have to find her myself.' With that, Marcus had turned to walk into his little room, when Barnes spoke up from behind him.

'Her quarters are in the north end of the barracks.'

Marcus turned back to face him, a questioning look on his face.

Barnes sighed heavily. 'Take the main corridor left, go straight down past the blast doors, and take the second corridor right. Then take your fourth right. Her room's the sixth on the left.' Barnes paused. 'Got it?'

Marcus grudgingly nodded. 'Got it.'

* * *

Now, Marcus battled with, among other things, his need to see Blair, to talk to her. For all his tough talk to Barnes, he'd been sitting there in his little room for over an hour at least. Part of him was afraid to face her, and he sat there delaying it, letting time pass. It was late and Blair had probably gone to bed by now. It seemed obvious that on the rare occasions when Resistance fighters weren't out in the battlefield they'd want to catch up on whatever precious rest they could, and it would be lousy to go and wake her…

But he had to. He had to talk to her – if she would hear him out – and see what she had to say to him, if anything. If she despised him for turning out to be a coward, a murderer.

_You did try to warn her, _a small part of him countered. _Bullshit_, he replied. He shouldn't have kept the truth from Blair, the one person who'd had blind faith in him since the day they met. Taking a deep breath he pushed himself up off the creaking, wobbling cot and headed out the door. _Fourth right, sixth on the left_, he repeated in his head

* * *

'You could have spoken to me first, you know,' Kate rebuked her husband in an undertone as she pushed open the door.

John frowned. 'What are you talking about? I thought you were on board with this,' he whispered back as the entered the room off the main infirmary where Silverman and Kate had been camped out for the better part of the day.

A large table in the middle of the room was littered with papers, x rays and files. At the far end John Silverman was shuffling noisily through a large file, oblivious to the Connors' presence.

'Yeah well I still am, technically. But that was before I heard some of the stuff he had to say,' Kate hissed back, jerking her head in Silverman's direction.

John frowned. 'What are you talking about?'

'I'll let him tell you,' Kate said softly. 'Doctor,' she called out.

Silverman looked up with a start, then got awkwardly to his feet. 'Ah, Connors. Sorry, I was rather absorbed…'

'No problem,' Connor replied, pulling back chairs for himself and Kate. 'Kate tells me you two have made some headway with understanding Marcus'… situation.'

'Yes, yes we have,' Silverman began eagerly as they all sat down. He took a deep breath and launched into it without preamble. 'First of all, we've been able to understand some basic things about his functioning that were eluding us before. For instance, the way his healing works. And how his body adapts to certain conditions, what he does and doesn't need to stay 'healthy'… that sort of thing…'

'Do we know what went wrong during the probe?' John cut in abruptly.

Silverman paused, as if trying to decide what his reaction to John's interruption should be. 'Sort of.' He replied finally. 'We already know that Skynet built into Marcus' brain a system that ensured no third party would be able to access his memory centers. But what also happened is that we physically damaged a portion of his brain. The artificial cortex of Marcus' brain contains an extremely delicate and sophisticated system that essentially coordinates the operation of his organic and inorganic components and keeps them both running as one, functional unit. Remarkable, a remarkable achievement…' he trailed off for a moment.

The Connors waited patiently.

Kate decided to continue. 'What happened, is that we disrupted the normal function of a section of his brain that controls healing and pain responses. And that is now kind of haywire. So while his reactions at the time… you know, the pain, his going into a kind of coma… all of that was probably triggered by the Skynet failsafe, but the lingering effects he's feeling now are probably a result of the separate, physical damage that was caused by the probe.'

'Will these effects go away?' John asked.

'We can't say for certain,' Silverman replied bluntly. 'To be quite honest John, I have no idea. But what Kate and I do have an idea of now, is how very fragile the whole system is. Marcus may seem indestructible, but he is not just the body of a T-800 covered in skin. We were foolish to think we could just open up his head without the risk of destroying something in there. Like children tinkering with a toy we couldn't understand.'

John frowned. 'Go on.'

'Well, the damage is of specific concern because it affects his healing abilities. We know that essentially, Marcus' system responds to injury the same way as any of us; organic nerve endings in his skin register pain, and according to the damage inflicted, his flesh will bleed, burn and so on.'

John nodded briskly. 'Yeah. We already know this.'

Silverman ignored his impatience. 'Where minor to moderate injuries are concerned, Marcus is in effect, human, so cuts, scrapes, bruises, burns… they affect him just like any of us. The difference between him and us kicks in only when the level of injury is serious, when the physical damage is extensive enough that in a normal person it would cause severe damage or death.'

'Like the landmine blast he was in?' John ventured.

'Exactly. An ordinary person would have died, or just barely survived that kind of blast. But in Marcus' case what happens is that every injury he receives is instantly evaluated by both his organic and inorganic systems. So, if he's moderately injured, the artificial cortex will remain inactive, and he'll suffer the injury like anyone else. Helps to maintain the illusion that he's human, I suppose.

But when the injury is severe, Skynet seems to have made the calculated decision to preserve their asset at the expense of his cover. Meaning that rather than just let him bleed to death from a serious injury, Skynet engineered his artificial cortex to kick in and launch damage control.'

'Damage control, huh,' John mused softly, intrigued.

'So, take that landmine blast,' Kate continued, 'What happened is that his brain instantly assessed the degree of his injuries, decided they were lethal, and initiated emergency procedure. Which is that his artificial cortex took control of his organic nervous system, and overrode all the signals from it. Nerve endings in the damaged area were temporarily disabled and pain response was deactivated, resulting in a generalized numbness and keeping him lucid and functional. And to keep him from dying of blood loss, blood vessels at the site of the injury were temporarily constricted to halt bleeding.'

John let out a long breath. 'Makes sense,' he murmured. 'You're right. That is pretty fucking incredible. And it's great that we understand all of this. But what does this mean now? What's changed since the probe?'

'What's changed,' Silverman said grimly, 'Is that thanks to the damage caused by the probe, this incredible, ingenious system has lost its reliability. We don't know that Marcus' body will respond as efficiently the next time he steps on a mine, or has a T-800 shoot him full of bullets. He could die just like any of your soldiers.'

John froze as this Silverman's last words sank in. Kate's earlier distress suddenly made sense; clearly, Marcus was not quite the indestructible soldier John had envisioned. _Goddammit._As he thought back to the mission he had basically designed around Marcus only hours earlier, he put his head in his hands, and swore under his breath.

'Are you alright, John?' Silverman asked politely, mildly alarmed. Obviously, he didn't understand the reason for John's react …

John massaged his temples. 'Yeah, fine,' he sighed. 'This just puts a little hitch in my plans, that's all Doctor.'

Silverman seemed confused. 'May I ask what plans those are?'

John gave him an appraising look, then decided there was no harm in telling him. 'I've got a mission lined up for Marcus. A major strike against a significant Skynet target. And it pretty much relies on him being, well, indestructible.'

To his surprise, Silverman responded with distress. 'You can't be serious!' he exclaimed, stricken.

John exchanged a look with his wife. She looked just as confused as him.

Silverman pushed his chair back and stood, beginning to pace around in agitation.

'Okay, what's going on…' John began.

'John, please. I ask you to reconsider using Marcus Wright as part of your strike team,' Silverman implored. 'He can't become part of the Resistance.'

There was absolute silence for a moment.

'What the hell do you mean?' John demanded. 'Look I understand what you're saying about the damage he's suffered and how that changes things. Obviously, we need to tell him about all this. If that's what you're worried about…'

'No, no that's not it…'

John shrugged, 'What then? I don't see any other problem. Once Marcus knows about these latest findings, he's free to do what he wants. I'm not sending him on a suicide mission, obviously. But Marcus has made a decision to be part of the Resistance and I'm pretty sure he won't go back on his word.'

Silverman was shaking his head emphatically. 'You don't understand.'

John felt his patience wearing thin. 'Then make me understand.'

Silverman sighed, and slumped back into his chair. He looked agonized. 'Marcus is not free to just make any choice he wants,' he groaned. 'He can't just up and become a soldier.'

'What? Why the hell not?' John demanded, now clearly annoyed.

Moments stretched out. When Silverman finally spoke, his words tumbled out in a kind of desperate plea. 'Because… there are people out there who won't let that happen. Who, once they hear of his existence, will want to assert control… they'll want to lay claim…'

Whatever John and Kate might have been expecting to hear, this was not it. They exchanged stunned, confused glances. Slowly, menacingly, John leaned forward. He glared at Silverman. 'What the _hell,'_ he whispered furiously'Are you talking about?'

Silverman seemed to shrink from him.

'What 'people'? What are you talking about?' Kate snapped, echoing her husband, 'And why is this the first time we're hearing of any of this?' Her eyes narrowed with suspicion and distrust. 'Dr Silverman, it sounds like there's a lot going on you haven't been telling us.' She folded her arms grimly. 'I'd suggest you start, _now._'

* * *

**_AUTHOR's NOTE: First off, a quick word of thanks to anyone still reading this story! And second, there's a change of dates reflecting that Marcus was in prison for only a year, not three as previously stated. (Whoops). Cheers._**


	17. Chapter 17

…Four, five, _six._

Marcus counted out the doors in his head as he passed them, coming to an uneasy halt in front of number six. Apprehensively he stood facing the door, and took a deep breath. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and knocked softly, twice.

Nothing.

He waited, and the seconds ticked by. Maybe she was asleep after all. It seemed likely; the murky halls were deserted so it had to be quite late. Marcus glanced around. In spite of himself, he decided to try one more time. He knocked on the door again, a little harder this time.

_Definitely asleep._

Exhaling, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed, Marcus turned and began walking away when the sudden sharp click of a bolt being drawn back made his heart jump. Whirling, he saw the door ease open. A tousled-looking Blair squinted out into the hall.

Marcus bit his lip. 'Hey.'

'Marcus…' she replied softly, in surprise. 'Hey.'

He shrugged ineffectually. 'Didn't mean to wake you…'

She shook her head. 'No… It's okay. I'd just gotten into bed.' She squinted at him, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe. 'What's up?' She asked quietly.

He paused. Suddenly, it was all a bad idea. 'I just…Nothing. It can wait. Go back to bed.'

He turned to leave again, but Blair called after him. 'Marcus.' She wasn't stupid. And she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easy. 'Get your ass back here.'

He sat on a wooden chair that creaked dangerously under his weight, watching her as she moved around in the small space. The room was considerably bigger than the one given to him, but still Spartan. It had a larger bed, a chair, a wide table and a battered wardrobe in one corner. But the real difference between this room and his was that it was obviously someone's home, an inhabited space. There were things everywhere, old, sad-looking possessions; worn clothes in drab shades of grey and khaki were draped over furniture, a tattered knapsack sat on the floor by a pair of combat boots. On a small table by the bed lay a few trinkets and a well-worn paperback.

He shifted his attention back to her. She was wearing a thin tank top and a threadbare pair of pajamas, her long wavy hair more tousled than usual. He watched her long arms, her profile, as she set out two chipped, cracked mugs on the table and poured boiling water from an ancient-looking electric kettle into them.

'Here.' She handed one to him, and settled at the foot of the bed with the other.

Marcus took a cautious sniff. 'What is it?'

Blair paused. 'Herbal tea.'

_Herbal tea?_ Marcus couldn't help the flicker of amusement that crossed his face. He wouldn't have guessed that Blair Williams, fearless Resistance fighter pilot and all-round badass was much of a connoisseur of _herbal tea_. A full-fledged smile threatened to break across his face. To hide it, he raised the cup to his lips and took a tiny sip. The hot liquid was bland, fragrant.

His thoughts seemed to broadcast across the space, and Blair's response – a sheepish smirk of acknowledgement – was as unexpected as his. 'Yeah, I know,' she said sardonically, 'Doesn't fit the 'profile'. But,' she warned him, 'Don't knock it till you've tried it. It works.'

'And what's it supposed to do exactly?' Marcus heard the gently mocking, almost flirtatious undertone in his gravelly voice as if it were coming from someone else's mouth. His stomach felt like stones; the last thing on his mind right now was flirting with Blair. But somehow, this odd chemistry always seemed to bubble up between them no matter what the circumstances…

As if sensing his thoughts again, though, Blair suddenly sobered. Shrugging, she said, 'It's supposed to calm you. Help you sleep, all that.' She took a sip, seemed to hesitate. 'My mother drank it all the time. She swore by it, but I used to hate the stuff. Never touched it.'

Any lingering urge to smile on his part evaporated as quickly as it had come. This was the first time she'd ever mentioned anything about a family, about her past.

'But you do now,' he prompted softly, his voice now grave.

She smiled a small, sad smile. 'Funny how perspectives change when the world ends, isn't it?'

Marcus watched her silently, acknowledging this. So she'd lost her mother. Of course, they'd all lost someone, if not _everyone_. But still. He took another sip, wishing he could say something that would help, knowing that he couldn't.

'How d'you get your hands on herbal tea in a post-Judgment Day world?' he asked instead after a while, curious… and eager to steer clear of talk of her dead mother.

'A friend. Dixon… he's one of our chopper pilots. He has some contacts in the, uh – well, it's a black market of sorts. He keeps an eye out, picks some up for me when he can.' She shrugged. 'It's surprisingly easy to get hold of the odd luxury item if you know the right people. It's the daily commodities we have to fight for,' she added.

For a while, they drank their tea in silence. Marcus sensed that this was the end of their hesitant small talk, the little reprieve she'd allowed him from the real conversation they were going to have. _Had_ to have, really, in the wake of all that had been revealed… Surprisingly, despite everything else that weighed on him at that point, Marcus found himself wondering about this guy Dixon, who Blair spoke of with such an easy familiarity. Was there something going on between him and Blair? He dismissed the thought. It wasn't his place to wonder about that; Blair's life was her own business, he told himself.

She was watching him. 'So, where were you?' She asked finally. 'I went looking for you.' Her tone was studiedly casual, but he sensed the reproach.

He shifted guiltily. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered, the word feeling clumsy on his tongue. He couldn't remember the last time he'd apologized to anyone for anything. 'I was…' Words failed him so he shrugged. The sledgehammer that had been whacking away steadily at his temple all day seemed to gather new strength and he winced, massaging the area.

'How are you feeling?' she asked, more gently. 'Even Kate was worried when you stormed off. Said you should be taking it easy. After everything.'

That made him feel even worse. The last thing he wanted just now was to hear of anyone's concern for him. A very small part of him wondered briefly if the hatred hadn't been easier to tolerate.

'I'm fine. Just a headache.' As he uttered the words he realized he was obviously _not_ fine; a headache was not something his carefully balanced, Skynet-enhanced nervous system would ordinarily be susceptible to. Again the irrational fear clutched at him. _Something's wrong inside my head._

Blair drained her cup and set it down on the floor.

Marcus clenched his hands tightly around his own mug, feeling a hint of tenderness in his recovering hand. He'd unwound the bandage as he sat thinking in his little room earlier, and the sight of his newly-healed hand still surprised him. The skin was pink and a bit raw, but the flesh under it was good as new, as if nothing had ever happened. Even the nails had grown back.

He cleared his throat softly, realizing he was nervous. There was no easy way to do this; he wasn't much good at talking about heavy stuff to begin with, much less _this_ stuff. He stared into the cup in his lap.

'Blair.' He paused. 'About today. I wanted to say… I'm sorry.' His throat seemed to dry up, and he hastily swallowed. 'That you had to find out the way you did.'

There was silence from Blair. Because he didn't dare look at her, he had no way of gauging her reaction. His words hung heavily in the silence.

With effort, Marcus willed himself to continue. 'I should have told you about my past. Before any of this. I should've told you about the shooting. And the execution… Serena Kogan… all of it…' he swallowed. 'But I couldn't.'

He managed a glance at her. Blair's face was expressionless but there was a flicker in her eyes. 'Marcus…'

'Wait,' he said quickly. 'Let me finish.' He couldn't change what had happened but at least for once he could man up and tell the truth to someone who deserved to hear it. As hard as it was.

Her expression was indecipherable but she nodded.

'I don't know what you think of me now that you know,' he whispered, 'But I just wanted to say this; I'm sorry that… I'm not what you thought. That I'm not the good guy you thought I was.'

It seemed the truth actually did hurt – he was surprised by the dull ache in his chest as he spoke. But somehow, now that he'd begun, the words began pouring out. Hesitantly but steadily he continued his confession.

'When I met you, and what happened that night… you almost made me believe I _was_ that good guy. I sat there thinking afterwards, and… maybe for the first time, I _wanted_ to be. And then… everything happened. The landmine… Skynet. And then, what happened with John. I thought it was all over. You'd never have to know.'

Helplessly, he looked at Blair. She seemed to be blinking a little faster than usual but was otherwise composed. He forced himself to look her straight in the eyes as he continued now.

'And afterwards, after the surgery… I couldn't bring myself to tell you,' he admitted hoarsely. 'I didn't want you to hate me. I wanted to pretend like none of it had ever happened, that I could leave it all behind.'

There were definitely tears in her eyes now. Disappointment, or sorrow? Or rage? He had no idea.

'I know better now,' he finished heavily. 'The things I've done are a part of me – they'll haunt me as long as I live. I just wanted to say I shouldn't have kept you in the dark. Not you. I– '

Blair finally cut him off. '_Marcus.'_

His gut clenched painfully. 'What?' he whispered.

For a moment she bit her lip, wiped roughly at the corner of her eye. Then she rose from the bed. 'Put on your coat.'

'Huh_?_' He stared up at her, completely thrown for a loop.

'Put on your coat,' she repeated firmly, reaching past him to take a jacket off the hook behind the door. She pulled on the jacket over her pajamas, and sat on the edge of the bed to tug on her boots.

'Where are we going?'

She yanked her laces tight. 'You'll see.'

* * *

John Silverman sighed deeply, as deeply as if he were trying to expel a lifetime's worth of regret and sorrow trapped in his body.

'Before I say anything else, you have to know that Serena… She had nothing to do with all of this. She was a scientist, pure and simple.'

This pronouncement was meant with stony silence from the Connors.

But Silverman now seemed unaffected. He had sunk deep into a well of memory, and his eyes took on a distant haze. 'I was privileged to work with her, to know her,' he muttered, almost speaking to himself. 'Damn, that entire group of doctors… they were something special. What that generation – my generation – of scientists was on the verge of was incredible, but Serena outdid them all – advanced prosthetics, transplants, regenerative gene therapy… all really exciting areas of research. So much promise…' he trailed off regretfully.

'But we should all have known better. Should've realized it could only end badly. When science becomes too radical, too advanced… well, you know the story. When the military started taking more and more of an interest in Cyberdyne's Genetics Division, people finally started realizing it, but it was already too late. Things were changing, and fast. We always knew that that kind of research was tricky, had its ethical limits. And hell, who'd be stupid enough to trust the establishment. But never did we imagine…'

'What?' John was barely controlling his impatience at Silverman's endless ramblings. 'What did you not imagine?'

'Well, what we were told was that the military wanted Serena's science. They wanted to buy it off her. To make it so that her techniques would be authorized only for top-secret military use.'

'For what purpose?' John spat.

'Essentially the same purpose that Serena was developing it for, apparently. To treat the crippled, war veterans seriously wounded in combat… that sort of thing–'

'Seems like an awful lot of effort to go to for a few paraplegics,' John broke in, a steely edge in his voice.

Silverman looked sharply at her. 'Exactly.'

Connor frowned. Something flickered in his head, a memory from many years ago… 'So that was just a cover… They didn't want the technology to treat injured soldiers,' he said quietly, dreading Silverman's response.

The older man shook his head gravely, once. 'Of course not. Far as they were concerned, once a soldier can't fight anymore you might as well take him out and shoot him like a dog.'

Kate bristled a bit at this vehement bitterness. 'You can't make a generalization like that,' she countered, but there was no real anger in her voice. 'My father was a military man, and he was a good man. The best.'

Silverman half-shrugged, as if to say _What does it matter now?_

'Look, can we move on? Connor was getting tired of having to prompt Silverman at every turn. 'What the fuck _did_ they want?'

'Control. Absolute control and power.' Silverman answered simply. 'They fully intended to utilize the outcome of Serena's work in a way that better suited their purposes. What Serena did to Marcus – not just the process and how labor- and time-intensive it was, but how much it cost – why do you think she was able to do it? Where do you think the money came from? It was because they wanted to see if it _could be done._ And once they saw that it was actually happening, that it was workable, they began to move in. Began to take over. Do you realize that the military bought out Cyberdyne barely a month after Serena died? In a way, I think it's a mercy she was on her way out of this life… I can't imagine what it would have done to her to see her work taken away from her, everything snatched away and hidden out of reach…'

'So the military wanted exclusive rights to the technology. They wanted to use it for their own purposes. Dare we presume you'll tell us what those were?' Connor's tone had taken on a new level of dryness.

'They wanted to create super-soldiers,' Silverman said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He ignored the shock spreading across the faces of John and Kate as they took in the full implication of his words, continuing, 'If they'd had their way, Marcus would have been just a humble prototype, a granddad of sorts to the next-gen of fully-automated, remote-controlled hybrid soldiers.'

Silverman now spoke uninterrupted by John's caustic questions. 'Skynet had nothing on the military's plans. In fact, where on earth do you think Skynet got the idea of the terminators from in the first place? It was all there, all on record. The chip implant, the interface with his organics… Skynet is one lazy bastard. It doesn't invent anything, or do anything from scratch. All it has to do is mine its system for a universe of crazy, dangerous ideas to keep it busy. Skynet just modifies, it _amends_...'

'Look, hang on,' John broke in finally. 'This – this chip interface… you said earlier that Serena wasn't out to do anything sinister and that all she wanted was to repair people's bodies… if so then why have a microchip embedded in someone's head?'

'She _didn't!_' Silverman snapped impatiently. 'Serena had nothing to do with Marcus ending up with a chip in his head. The control bit, that was where the military came in, don't you see? To make their super-soldier program successful, the military would have to ensure a 100 percent rate of obedience from each one of these superhuman hybrids. Otherwise just think what could go wrong. Just think,' he urged, 'Of what would happen if one of these guys went out, got drunk on a Friday night and got into bar brawl!'

The words, possibly funny in another context, were chilling to hear. John couldn't help thinking back to when he was thirteen…

'Of course, that was an unacceptable risk,' Silverman continued. 'So the only way for something like this to work was to have complete and utter control of the hybrids. Hence the chip.' Silverman sat back in his chair. 'Another division of Cyberdyne was responsible for developing that chip under military supervision. The technology would've ensured that no hybrid was capable of disobeying a direct order… no matter what that order was. They would be like… well, like machines. Just carrying out orders.'

There was dead silence.

'So in effect,' John finally spoke quietly, 'The first Terminators would have been created by our own military.'

Kate glanced at him; there was a heaviness in his voice that she knew meant he was deeply shaken by what Silverman was telling them. He wasn't the only one.

'That's crazy,' she said softly.

Silverman looked at her appraisingly. 'Is it? You tell me. Is it really so crazy that our governments, our military, the same men who were sworn to protect – and who in fact made a fat profit off of wars, and dropped nuclear bombs on entire populations – would to do this?'

Kate continued as if speaking to herself. 'But assuming they could have done this, where would they find men willing to sign on– ' she bit off her own words hard as the answer became starkly obvious. Of course. Where had they found Marcus? Kate's mouth tightened into a thin line.

Silverman nodded at her obvious realization. 'Men like Marcus. Condemned prisoners, criminals, men with no hope – they would have been recruited into the program and given a choice that wasn't really a choice; undergo the procedure, or proceed to their sentencing, which for most of them was death, or life imprisonment in the best of circumstances. It would be an offer they couldn't refuse. Of course, they wouldn't be told they were going to sign up for complete mind-control, just… a top-secret military _project.' _Silverman's voice was low with disgust. 'Most people would find that infinitely preferable to death by lethal injection.'

A long silence spun out again.

'Marcus didn't,' Kate murmured, rather irrelevantly.

'Yes, but most would,' Silverman said, in a tone that was almost gentle now. 'That's what those in power count on, always have; the human will to live. To survive, no matter what the cost.'

John took a deep breath. 'Fucking idiots,' he swore under his breath. 'Like children playing God with insects,' he muttered bitterly. He leaned forward and sat quietly for a while with his head in his hands, not moving.

Then he seemed to shake off his thoughts.

'Right,' he said crisply. 'So, if we're to believe you, the United States government was on the verge of authorizing the forced creation of an army of human-machine hybrid soldiers about the time when Judgment Day happened.'

Silverman nodded.

'So what? The United States no longer exists. No government in the world does. Every secret the military owned and guarded so fiercely now belongs to Skynet. What could be worse than that? What does any of this have to do with Marcus now?'

Silverman refused to meet his eyes. 'It has everything to do with Marcus because the people who would have been responsible for the super-soldier program were not all killed in the aftermath of Judgment Day. If he were to become part of the Resistance, to mix freely with your people, to live and fight alongside them, word would get out… and it would really only be a matter of time, do you understand? Before someone came looking for him. To claim him.'

* * *

The stars were out and the night was still and cold. And absolutely silent. It struck Marcus again how complete the silence was; there was an absence of any of the usual night sounds – no insects, no small animals.

They were in an area of the base he didn't recognize, but looking around at the large tarmacked area, Marcus realized it was an airstrip. Or what was left of it.

'Up there,' Blair pointed at a tall shadowy structure a few hundred yards away. She led the way and up close, Marcus saw the structure had clearly been a control tower; it had obviously been bombed at some point in the past, and was now little more than a hulk of wreckage standing defiantly tall in the night.

But the remnants of the structure seemed solid enough, and Blair started up the ladder along one side without hesitation. Marcus paused, watching her effortlessly ascend the ladder before following. He wasn't sure what the point of this was, but he followed anyway.

As he cleared the last rung though, his breath caught in his throat. They were standing on a concrete platform in the rubble-strewn remains of what had once been the main control room – blown to pieces by a missile from the looks of the decimated remnants of pillars and crumbling walls here and there. But that wasn't what caught his attention him; it was the view beyond.

From their vantage point, they could see clearly around them for miles in all directions. If you looked carefully, you could make out the desolate stretch of land that made up the minefields. But what really caught the eye were the woods beyond. Surprisingly lush and dense, they stretched on for acres, over the gradually undulating land. Here and there, between the trees, the cold moonlight glittered off of visible patches of the river beside which he and Connor had faced each other over the barrel of a gun. Far in the distance there were gently rolling hills. In the dead of night, with only the stars and a waning moon to light it, the landscape was eerily beautiful.

As he stood looking around in obvious surprise, Blair stepped up from behind him. 'Not a bad view huh?' she asked softly.

He shook his head. 'Not bad at all.'

She let out a deep breath. 'I like coming here when it feels like it's all going to hell,' she told him.

'It's peaceful,' he murmured in agreement. They were silent for a while, both taking in the strangely soothing view.

'Strange,' Marcus said thoughtfully after a while, as something occurred to him, 'Standing here it's almost like–'

'Judgment Day never happened?' Blair finished.

He nodded in surprise. 'Exactly.'

From the height they were at, it was clear that the surrounding area had escaped obvious destruction. It had obviously never been a populated stretch of land to begin with, so there were no charred remains of towns or neighborhoods, no ghostly hulks of skyscrapers standing silently in the distance. Marcus suddenly recalled looking out over the impossible ruins of the once-glittering city of Los Angeles, a sight that had left him largely numb, partly because at that point he had still honestly believed he was trapped in some hyper-realistic nightmare…

But now, looking out over the serene nightscape, he found that for the first time the reality of what had happened to the world hit him; it wasn't just him and this Resistance base in a desolate corner of California. It was the whole goddamned _planet_. The realization came at him full force: all the world's major cities, every single major symbol of human civilization, of prosperity, advancement, technology, art, science… it was all gone. Not just hundreds of millions of lives wiped out of existence, but everything they and countless generations before them had built from the ground up, over not just decades, but _centuries_… simply obliterated.

In his own life Marcus had never spared much thought for an abstract notion of the world, of humanity. If anything, he'd hated the world. As long as he could remember, he'd been angry at it. He resented it and everyone in it who went around so fucking normally, so apparently devoid of the coiled hate and despair he'd carried all his life. But now, suddenly, as the enormity of the disaster washed over him, Marcus was blindsided by a tremendous sense of loss. He found himself struggling to comprehend the scale of the devastation. They had lost _everything_…

Blair sensed his train of thought.

'I know,' she said softly. 'It's hard to accept.'

Marcus shook his head bitterly. 'I can't believe it. Can't believe it's all gone…' he trailed off, staring into the night. He realized with a jolt that no matter how shitty his life might have been, it had contained countless small random moments of pure pleasure that the inhabitants of this cold and barren world could never even dream of.

It shook him to the core now to remember these small things that he had taken so completely for granted. The fragments crowded in on him at random. Driving aimlessly on a sunny day with the stereo blaring. Fucking a girl on the beach at night, both of you reckless, laughing… delirious. Sleeping in on a Sunday, slightly hungover and without a care in the world. Ice-cold beer. The clean smell of soap filling your nose in the shower, the scent of freshly-laundered clothes warm from the dryer. Greasy French fries from the local drive-in. Passing out on the couch with some crappy TV show droning on in the background… the onslaught made his head spin.

His next words were barely audible: 'The world I knew is gone forever.' Saying it out loud made it real.

Blair sighed. 'You think you've gotten used to it, that you've come to terms with it… and then sometimes, even after all these years, you wake up in the morning and it hits you all over again.'

Marcus turned to her. 'How did you do it?' he asked wonderingly. 'How do you survive the end of the world?'

A sad smile twisted her mouth as she looked at him. 'One day at a time, Marcus,' she said. 'One day at a time.' They both looked out over the landscape. 'After Judgment Day,' she continued softly, 'There was nothing left… just, absolute chaos. Hell. Fire everywhere. We don't call it Judgment Day for nothing.'

He glanced at her sideways as she spoke, listening carefully.

'Those of us who survived hid underground, in shelters, in bunkers, wherever we could…in the most appalling conditions, making do with whatever we could get our hands on; hardly any food, no medicine. So many more people died during that time that we lost count. Starvation, illness… and of course the radiation poisoning.'

Marcus shuddered inwardly a little at the lack of emotion in her voice. She spoke detachedly, as if recounting a story she'd heard once, not the unimaginable personal hell she herself had endured and survived.

'Probably hundreds of thousands more died after the day itself. It went on forever. Months felt like years. Then, slowly, we began coming out, finding safer areas, avoiding the fallout. Reclaiming little bits of land. Starting to live again… But then the machines came.' She looked at him at this, and Marcus thought she smiled a little at his stricken expression. 'They came and they killed God-knows how many more. It was a massacre. We had no choice but to fight if we wanted to stay alive. And so, we fought. I don't know how we did it, but we began organizing, began forming groups and banding together to fight back. That was the beginning of the Resistance.'

She turned to him, squared her shoulders slightly. 'And here we are today,' she finished, her voice brightening now, as if suddenly remembering where she was. 'Here we are, standing here. And just for a little while, on a night like this,' she gestured out at the landscape, 'it's possible to remember what it was like before it all happened.' She shrugged and smiled at him – a real smile this time, small but radiant. It made Marcus wonder, again, at the almost insane resilience of human beings. _How can you still smile after living through something like that? _

'And _that_, is how you survive the end of the world,' the familiar flippant edge was back in Blair's voice. 'Answer your question?'

Marcus considered. 'I guess so.'

Silence stretched out.

Blair wrapped her arms around herself against the chill in the air.

'You're cold,' he pointed out quietly.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the same memory struck them both.

She chuckled softly. 'Seems familiar doesn't it?'

He ducked his head to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but her reference to their night in the desert quickly sobered him. It brought him back to his clumsy, painful attempts to come clean, and how he wasn't nearly done when she'd interrupted him…

Marcus took a moment to gather his thoughts. 'Blair. D'you remember, that night… when I asked you about second chances?'

She nodded.

'I barely knew you. But after you dozed off, I sat there, thinking. And for some reason I was tempted to tell you everything then. I really was.' He glanced at her. 'I wanted to tell you the nightmare I woke up to, how hellish the last few days had been.' He swallowed. 'That… that the last thing I remembered was lying strapped to a table in a county prison, waiting to die.'

She glanced sharply at him and this time he forced himself to hold her gaze.

'I wanted to tell you that I had no idea where I was, or how I got there, or why I was even alive.' He sighed. All this truth was exhausting. 'I dunno _why_. But maybe I thought… I don't know, that you might understand.'

He nudged at a bit of debris at his feet. 'But now I know that that was stupid,' he continued heavily, 'I'd no right to think you'd understand. And I'd no right to ask you about second chances.' He swallowed again against a rising ache in his throat. 'Cause I knew full well I didn't deserve one.'

Marcus exhaled in a kind of bitter relief. He felt wrung out, but he also felt lighter. It felt good, in a strange way, to be saying all these things. _Maybe_, he thought, in a sudden flash of understanding, _this is what confession is supposed to feel like_.

He thought back momentarily to the padre, the old prison priest who insisted on coming to his cell every day for two weeks before the execution. He'd tried so hard to get Marcus to consider opening up, to at least accept his blessing. But Marcus had just sat looking at him stone-faced and silent, and every day the man went away with nothing accomplished. It was only on the last day that his presence had actually angered Marcus. He wanted to yell at the priest, wanted to physically shove him against a wall. _Is that all it takes?_ He'd wanted to demand. _A few little prayers and you believe I'll be forgiven? Fuck you and anyone simple-minded enough to believe in that kind of redemption._ _I don't need your fucking prayers. I know where I'm going. _Instead he'd gritted his teeth and waited patiently, zoning out as the man intoned the words that were supposed to deliver him to salvation. 'Father, please,' he'd said finally, when he couldn't take it anymore. That was all he'd said.

_There is no salvation. _

After what seemed like an eternity, Blair gripped his arm. Her hold was surprisingly strong, almost painful. 'There _is,' _she said quietly, almost angrily. 'You just don't want to let yourself see it.'

Marcus looked at her, startled. He hadn't realized he'd spoken the last words aloud. He opened his mouth to speak, to argue, but she stopped him with a deadly look.

'Marcus. I know you'll never forgive yourself for the things you've done,' she began. 'But you can't change any of that now. _It happened._ And you just have to find a way to live with it, just like we all do; we all live with the past, whatever it is, no matter how bad.'

He tried again, his mouth opened but there were no words.

Ignoring him, Blair continued. 'But what you _can_ control,' she told him fiercely, 'Is what happens from here on in. You can control your _future_. And maybe, just maybe if you do it right, one day the past will seem almost forgivable.'

Marcus clenched his jaw. She was echoing John Connor. If he hadn't known better he would have thought they'd planned this. An ambush. Operation Kill-him-with-Kindness.

But her words filled him with a sudden unbearable sadness that he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Tyler's death. 'How can you say that?' he asked softly. 'I killed people. I killed my own brother. I mean, he died because of me. That's not something you just forgive.'

To his surprise, Blair stepped closer, cupped his face gently in her hands. Marcus stood frozen as her thumb grazed lightly over his cheekbone. 'It's not,' she agreed. 'But I do anyway.'

At these words, he felt something that had been wadded up deep inside finally give way. As it sank in that Blair didn't hate him, that if anything, she was willing to stand by him more than ever, Marcus felt a wave of _something_ building up in him… he found himself staring at Blair with a hundred questions in his eyes, and it wasn't till the feeling built up into a tidal wave and slammed into him that he realized what it was; immense and deep gratitude.

Gratitude was something he was becoming familiar with lately, though however grudgingly. He'd felt grateful to Connor earlier, sure. And lately, he'd found small things stirred up the unfamiliar, awkward emotion; hugs from Star, Kyle's quiet camaraderie, Kate's strange, silent solidarity… But this was different. Blair's inexplicable, dogged faith in him floored him. Maybe it was a little pathetic how grateful he felt, but he didn't care. Nobody had ever believed in him this way. And all his life he'd trained himself to believe that he didn't want it or need it from anybody. But this, Marcus realized, was what it felt like to have someone really care.

Blinking furiously, he stared over her shoulder into the darkness. He couldn't look at her because his eyes kept trying to fill up and he had to get a grip or he was going to cry. And there was no way he was going to cry. Not even in front of her.

'It's okay,' she told him, continuing to stroke his cheek.

She couldn't possibly know what was going through him. Or could she? Impulsively, he put his arms around her and pulled her close. It was the only way he could think of to express any fraction of what he was feeling. As Blair's arms encircled his neck in return, he hugged her as tight as he dared and pressed his face into the warm hollow between her shoulder and her neck, inhaling deeply. It felt so good to hold her that he squeezed his eyes shut in a kind of agonized longing. He hadn't even been aware of what he really felt for her, he realized, up until this moment, up until he risked losing her friendship and her trust…

Blair was lightly stroking his head, the way her fingers ran over his cropped hair suggesting it was something she'd wanted to do for a long time. 'I don't know why you're so surprised,' she said lightly, though her voice sounded just ever so slightly raw. 'Did you think I was going to condemn you just because I learned an ugly truth about you?'

Much as he didn't want to, Marcus pulled back just enough to look at her. 'I guess so,' he whispered. He shrugged. 'Wouldn't blame you.'

She smiled sadly. 'Marcus I knew the night I met you that you were carrying some great big burden around. I've seen enough to recognize a man carrying a lifetime of regret.'

He found himself touching her hair tentatively, smoothing it away from jaw, picking a stray lock from the zipper of her jacket at the base of her neck. 'I still think you're letting me off the hook too easy,' he countered softly.

'I'm not letting you off the hook at all,' she replied honestly, 'But that's because I'm not the one that has to. It's you that has to come to terms with what you did. But it's like I said. People deserve to be given a chance. I can't turn away from who you are _now_ because of what you were _then_. I won't.'

His hands found their way to her face. 'Thank you,' he whispered earnestly, his voice heavy with gratitude.

And in that instant there it was, the moment that he knew he wanted to kiss her, and that, in the way she looked back at him, he knew she wanted it too. There was suddenly, he realized nothing he wanted more. He just wanted to lean in, close the gap of the few inches between them, and put his mouth to hers. If he could just do that, he decided, all of this would be worth it.

Except that he couldn't.

As he stared at her and she back at him, it hit Marcus with terrible and complete clarity that if he kissed Blair now, he risked losing her all over again. If he kissed her, there was no going back. Because he didn't just want to stop at one kiss. He wanted to take her in his arms, pull her gently down onto the dusty, rubble-lined concrete platform and make love to her right there under the sky. And _that_ was just something he could not do. He would not.

He remembered his words to Barnes. Nobody would hurt Blair, especially not him. And if they crossed this line, hurt was all that would come from it. One furtive night with Blair was not going to be enough, he realized now, but he knew without doubt that anything more was impossible.

Blair deserved so much better. Someone worthy of her, a decent, honest man who, like her, spent his days putting his life on the line fighting the machines, a man who would value and honor her. A man how actually knew how to _love_. Not a career criminal, a cop-killing death-row veteran who'd wasted his life chasing all the wrong goals, whose heart was so closed off to all feeling that he hadn't shed a tear even for his own brother.

But most of all, she deserved a _real_ man, one who was fully, completely human. It was one thing for Marcus to live alongside them, to let most aspects of his life assume some semblance of normalcy in these utterly abnormal circumstances. But to presume that he could have a relationship with Blair? That he could pretend to be everything she needed and deserved… including an ordinary human male? No, that was just wrong.

She believed in him. She'd seen past everything else and somehow, some way, she'd decided there was good in him. It was time he started living up to her belief. Even if that meant doing the most painful thing he could think of right now, and stepping away from her.

As the seconds stretched out, the moment passed unfulfilled. Blair was watching him quietly as he silently battled with himself, and saw the urgent longing in his eyes change to pain. She must have guessed at his thoughts, because slowly, he saw his own pain reflected in her face.

'Marcus,' she began softly, but he cut her off.

'Shh,' he soothed. 'It's okay. Don't.'

She seemed to understand. For a moment, he thought she would turn away from him, that she might be angry, but she hugged him suddenly, impulsively, and Marcus rocked a little at the force with which she embraced him. Frozen for a second, he recovered and slowly wrapped his arms around her, trying not to let the sense of loss overwhelm him, telling himself to make the most of this moment, because this was as good as it was going.


End file.
